IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


m  m 


IL25  III  1.4 


I 


1.6 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WIST  MAIN  STRIH 

WIBSTIR,N.Y.  14SM 

(716)t72-4S03 


I 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institut*  for  Historical  IMicroreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microraproductions  historiquas 


Tachnical  and  Bibliographic  Notas/Notas  tachniquas  at  bibliographiquas 


'T:i«  Instituta  has  attamptad  to  obtain  tha  baat 
Qiiginal  copy  availabia  for  filming.  Faaturas  of  this 
copy  which  may  ba  bibiiographically  uniqua. 
which  may  altar  any  of  tha  imagaa  in  tha 
raproduction.  or  which  may  significantly  changa 
tha  usual  mathod  of  filming,  ara  chackad  balow. 


D 


D 


D 
D 
D 
D 


v/ 


D 


D 


Colourad  covars/ 
Couvartura  da  coulaur 


I     I   Covars  damagad/ 


Couvartura  andommagte 


Covars  rastored  and/or  laminatad/ 
Couvartura  rastaur6a  at/ou  pallicul4a 


I — I    Covar  titia  missing/ 


Le  titra  da  couvartura  manqua 


Colourad  maps/ 

Cartes  gtographiquas  9n  coulaur 

Colourad  init  (i.a.  othar  than  blua  or  blacic)/ 
Encre  da  coulaur  (i.a.  autra  qua  blaua  ou  noira) 


Colourad  platas  and/or  illustrations/ 
Planchas  at/ou  illustrations  an  coulaur 


Bound  with  othar  matarial/ 
RaiiA  avac  d'autras  documents 

Tight  binding  may  causa  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  nargin/ 

Lareiiura  serrie  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distortion  le  long  de  la  marge  intirieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajoutias 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparaisaant  dans  la  taxte, 
mais,  lorsque  cela  Atait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  M  filmies. 

Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  supplAmentaires: 


L'Institut  a  microfilm*  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  4t*  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-Atre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite.  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
*:tiodification  dans  la  mAthoda  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiquis  ci-dessous. 


D 
D 

n 

D 

0 

D 

n 
n 


Coloured  pages/ 
Pages  da  coulaur 

Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommagtes 

Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Pages  restaurAes  at/ou  pelliculAes 

Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  dAcoior^s.  tachetAes  ou  piquAas 

Pages  detached/ 
Pages  dAtachies 

Showthrough/ 
Transparence 

Quality  of  print  varies/ 
Qualit*  inAgale  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  material/ 
Comprend  du  materiel  suppMmentaire 

Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Mition  disponible 

Pages  wholly  or  pertially  obscured  by  errsta 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totaiement  ou  partiallement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure. 
etc..  ont  M  filmAes  A  nouveau  de  fapon  A 
obtenir  >a  meilleure  image  possible. 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  film*  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqu4  ei-dessous. 


Tb 
to 


Th 
po 
of 
fill 


Ori 
be 
th( 
sio 
ott 
firt 
sio 
or 


Th( 
shi 
Ti^ 
wh 

Ma 

difl 
ant 
bef 
rigl 

ma 


10X 

14X 

18X 

22X 

nx 

30X 

>/ 

12X 

16X 

20X 

MX 

28X 

a2x 

TtM  copy  fllm«d  hm  has  b««n  r«produe«d  thanks 
to  tha  ganarosity  of: 

Douglas  Library 
Quaan't  Univarsity 


L'axamplaira  filmi  f ut  raproduit  grica  A  la 
g4n4rosltA  da: 

Douglas  Library 
Quaan's  Univarsity 


Tha  imagaa  appaaring  hara  ara  tha  baat  quality 
posslbia  conaldaring  tha  condition  and  iaglblllty 
of  tha  original  copy  and  in  kaaping  with  tha 
filming  contract  apaelf icationa. 


Original  capias  In  printad  papar  covers  ara  fllmad 
beginning  with  tha  front  covar  and  anding  on 
tha  last  paga  with  a  printad  or  llluatratad  Innpraa- 
sion.  or  tha  back  covar  whan  approprlata.  All 
othar  original  copiaa  ara  fllmad  beginning  on  tha 
first  paga  with  a  printad  or  llluatratad  impraa- 
slon,  and  anding  on  tha  laat  paga  with  a  printad 
or  iilustratad  imprasston. 


Laa  images  suivantas  ont  4tA  reproduites  avac  la 
plus  grand  soln,  compta  tenu  de  ia  condition  at 
da  ia  nattetA  de  i'exempiaira  film*,  et  en 
conformM  evec  ies  conditions  du  contrat  da 
filmage. 

Lee  exemplelras  orlginaux  dont  la  couvartura  en 
pepier  est  ImprimAe  sent  filmis  en  commenpant 
per  le  premier  plet  et  en  terminent  soit  per  la 
dernidre  pege  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'improsslon  ou  d'lllustration,  soit  par  la  second 
plat,  aelon  ki  cea.  Tous  las  autres  axempleires 
origlnsux  sont  fiimto  en  commenpant  par  ia 
pramMre  pege  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'Impreeslon  ou  d'lllustretion  et  en  terminent  par 
la  darnlAre  pege  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 


Tlie  lest  recorded  freme  on  eech  microfiche 
shell  contain  tha  symbol  -^  (meening  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meening  "END"), 
whichever  epplles. 


Un  dee  symboles  sulvents  opparattra  sur  ia 
darnlAra  Image  de  cheque  microfiche,  seion  le 
ces:  le  symbols  —»- signifie  "A  SUIVRE".  ie 
symbols  ▼  signlfle  "FIN". 


Meps,  plates,  charts,  etc..  mey  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  retioe.  Thoee  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  In  one  expoaura  are  fllmad 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  comer,  left  to 
right  end  top  to  bottom,  aa  many  framae  aa 
required.  The  following  diagrama  Illustrate  the 
method: 


Lee  cartee,  planches,  tebleeux,  etc.,  peuvent  tun 
fiimte  i  dee  taux  de  rMuction  diffArents. 
Lorsque  k  document  eet  trop  grend  pour  Atre 
reprodrU  en  un  seul  ciichA,  II  est  film*  A  psrtir 
de  I'et  jle  supMeur  geuche,  de  geuche  A  droite, 
et  de  haut  an  bee,  en  prenent  ie  nombre 
d'imagae  nAcaeseire.  Les  diegremmes  suivsnts 
illustrent  la  mAthoda. 


1  2  3 


»x 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

\i 


II  I  *iih|Hpi,ifa 


[FfOiUisph'ce,] 


THE 


WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


-•-V.i'l.' 


^  inU  of  tbt  Mt^mw^mUim. 


«T 


E.  M.  BALLANTTITE, 

AUTHOR  OF  <*OASCOTME,  TBB  BANDAL  WOOD  TRADER,"  "  GORILLA 


HUNTERS, 


n    It 


DOO.CBaSOE,"    "FREAKS  ON  THE 


VBLLS,"   "RED  ERIC,"  "LIFE 
BOAT."    ETC. 


Pfil»LAt)ELTHIA: 
POBTER    &    COATES. 


■mmmmmmHmmmm 


U 


f^Zf057'?/5l\i^  P- 


I 


•  •  •• 

•  • 


•  •  • 


«••  •••  • 

•  •  •  • 


••  ••• •     • 

•  •  •  •  •     • 

•  •  •  •••  •  ••• 


•  • 


•   •     c     '      •    *  • 

'        <  •      •  • 


OAZTOH    PR.BSB    OF 
•  HBBMAir    *    CO.,    FHILADKLPHK 


1^ 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 


FACII 


In  which  the  Reader  is  introduced  to  a  Mad  Hero,  a  Reckless 
Lover,  and  a  Runaway  Husband. — Backwoods  Juvenile 
Training  described.  —  The  Principles  of  Fighting  fully  dis- 
cussed, and  some  valuable  Hints  thrown  out ....     9 

CHAPTER  II. 

Tt!e  Great  Prairie.  — A  Wild  Chase.  —  A  Remark«^.e  Accident 
and  an  Extraordinary  Charger,  all  of  which  terminate  in  a 
Crash.  —  Bounce  talks  Philosophy  and  tells  of  terrible  Things. 
—  Our  Hero  determines  to  beard  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West 
in  his  own  Den        .....*•..    21 

CHAPTER   III. 

The  Beauties  of  the  Wilderness. — Portages.  —  Philosophy  of 
Settling  Down.  —  An  Enormous  Footprint.  —  Supper  pro- 
cured, and  a  Bear-hunt  in  prospect .       .     '  •       .       .       .42 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Gibault  has  an  Adventurs,  and  discovers  a  very  strange  Crea- 
ture in  the  Woods.  —  A  most  tremendous  Bear-hunt  par- 
ticularly described  .       .      ' M 

*  (iU) 


t 


\S1050 


"W'lWPPi 


r  »     »JhliiWiH^'n»tn»  m ^^y  '    i.'.p^U.limift'   "  ".!'M-TWM>>~ 


iv 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Fiery  Remarks  and  Cogitations. — Round  the  Camp  Fire. — The  "*" 
Artist  gives  an  Account  of  Himself. — Value  of  a  Sketch- 
Book.  —  Discoveries  and  Dark  Threats.  —  The  Bears' -claw     > 
Collar 79 

CHAPTER  VI. 

The  Dangers  of  the  Wilderness.  — An  Unexpected  Catastrophe, 
which  necessitates  a  Change  of  Plans. — A  Descent  upon 
Robbers  proposed  and  agreed  to 98 

CHAPTER   VII. 

A  Wolfish  Way  of  killing  Buffalo  described.  —  Bounce  becomes 
Metaphysical  on  the  Fine  Arts.  —  Butchering  enlarged  on.  — ' 
A  glorious  Feast,  and  sketching  under  Difficulties  .       .       .  116 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  Cache  discovered.  —  Bertram  becomes  valorous.  —  Failure 
follows,  and  a  brief  Skirmish,  Flight,  and  Separation  are  the 
ResulU     . 136 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Bounce  cogitates  upon  the  embarrassing  Circumstances  of  his 
Condition.  —  Discovery  of  Black  Gibault— Terrible  Fate  in 
Store  for  their  Comrades.  —  A  Mode  of  Resc\|e  planned.  — 
Dreadful  Effects  of  Fire-water.  —  The  Rescue        .       .       .153 

CHAPTER  X. 

Short  Treatise  on  Horseflesh.  —  Remarks  on  Slang.  —  Doings 
aiid  Sights  on  the  Prairie.  —  The  A'^ountain  Fort  ,  .  176 


f 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


Original  Efforts  in  the  Art  of  Painting. — Fur-trading  Hospital^ 
ity._  Wonderful  Accounts  of  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West, 
from  an  Eye-witness.  —  Buflfalo-hunting,  Scalping,  Murder- 
ing, and  a  Suramar}'  Method  of  inflicting  Punishment .       .  19] 


CHAPTER  XII. 

An  Argument  on  Argumentation;  also  on  Religion. — Bounce 
"  feelosophical "  again.  —  A  Race  cut  short  by  a  Bullet.  — 
Flight  and  Pursuit  of  the  Redskins 209 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

The  Pursuit.  —  Conscientious  Scruples  of  the  Artist.  —  Stra- 
tegic Movements.  —  Surprised  in  the  Wild-cat  Pass. — March 
shows  Coolness  and  Pluck  in  the  Hour  of  Danger. — A  Ter- 
rific Onslaught  by  a  Wonderful  Warrior.  —  The  Battle. — 
Hard  Knocks  and  Mysterious  Differences  of  Opinion    .       .  224 


Ices  of  his 
ile  Fate  in 
>lanned.  — 


[.  — Doings 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

The  Hunting-ground.  —  How  they  spent  the  Sabbath  Day 
among  the  Mountains.  —  Threatening  Clouds  on  the  Hori- 
zon  S51 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Business  unpleasantly  Interrupted.  —  The  Mountain  Fort  in 
Danger.  —  Trappers  to  the  Rescue. — A  Rude  Meetmgwith 
Foes  in  the  Dark.— A  Wild  Race.  — March  meets  with  a 
Severe  Misfortune SM 


mmm 


■<■«•> 


n  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

March  gets  a  Surprise;  more  than  that,  he  gets  a  Variety  of 
Surprises.  —  Meets  with  a  Strange  Hunter.  —  Goes  in  a 
Strange  Fashion  to  a  Strange  Cavern  and  beholds  Strange 
Sights.  —  Besides  other  Matters  of  Interest     .       .       •       .  268 


CHAPTER   XVII. 
The  Vision  in  Leather 


28» 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

The  Cave  of  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West.  — March  and  Mary 
hold  Pleasant  Intercourse.  —  Dick's  Good  Qualities  enlarged 
on.  —  The  Wild  Man  gives  a  Redskin  a  Strange  Lesson.  — A 
Startling  Interruption  to  Pleasant  Converse   ....  297 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

The  Mysteries  of  the  Cave  explained.  —  Ingenious  Devices  of 
the  Wild  Man.  —  March  and  Mary  besieged.  — The  Redskins 
proceed  to  make  themselves  at  Home  in  the  Cavern       .       .  822 


1. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A  Gallop  to  the  Rescue. — A  Discovery. — Right-about  Face. 
—A.  Disagreeable  Surprise  and  a  Sudden  Ejection.  -;- A  Calm 
after  the  Storm.  —  Mary  a  Huntress.  —  Dick's  Story  of  the 
Murdered  Trapper 835 


Wi 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

March,  though  Willing  in  Spirit,  finds  his  Body  weak.  — He 
makes  Mary  a  Present.  —  The  Trappers  i^et  out  to  search^for 


• 


OONxENTS. 


vu 


their  Lost  Comrade.  —  An  Uii<^xpected  Meeting.  —  Big  Wal- 
ler waxes  Pugnacious.  —  News  of  March.  —  Dick  becomes 
more  Mysterious  than  ever.  —  A  Reckless  Proposal  and  a 
Happy  Meeting       .       •  861 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

March  Marston  is  perplexed,  so  are  his  Friends.  —  An  unlooked- 
for  Meeting.  —  Terrible  News.  —  The  Attack.  —  The  Wild 
Man  of  the  West  once  again  renders  signal  Ser^'ice  to  the 
Trap^'ers.  —  Wild  Doings  in  general,  and  March  Marston's 
Chagrin  in  particular 371 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 
The  Wounded  Fur-Trader 


884 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

March  Marston  at  Home.  —  His  astonishing  Behavior.  —  Nar- 
ration of  his  Extraordinary  Adventures.  —  Widow  Marston's 
Bower.  —  The  Rendezvous  of  the  Trappers.  —  A  strange  In- 
terruption to  March's  Narrative.  —  A  Will  Surprise  and 
Recovery  of  a  Lost  Lover.  —  Great  Destructi  n  of  House- 
hold Goods.  —  A  Double  Wedding  and  Tremendous  Excite- 
ment —  The  Wild  Man  of  the  West  the  Wisest  Mbn  :n  Pine 
Point  Settlement 898 


'ii 


Ni 


THB 


WILD  MAN   OF  THE  WEST. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Id  which  tho  Reader  is  introduced  to  a  Mad  Hero,  a  Reckless  Lover 
and  a  Runaway  Husband.  —  Backwoods  Juvenile  Training  de- 
scribed. —  Tlie  Principles  of  Fighting  fully  discussed,  and  some 
valuable  Hints  thrown  out. 


March  Marston  was  mad !  The  exact  state 
of  madness  to  which  March  had  attained  at  the 
age  when  we  take  up  his  personal  history  — 
namely,  sixteen  —  is  uncertain,  for  the  people  of 
the  backwoods  settlement  in  which  he  dwelt  dif- 
fered in  their  opinions  on  that  point. 

The  clergyman,  who  was  a  Wesleyan,  said  he 
was  as  wild  as  a  young  buffalo-bull;  but  the 
manner  in  which  he  said  so  led  his  hearers  to 
conclude  that  he  did  not  think  such  a  state  of 
ungovernable  madness  to  be  a  hopeless  condition, 
by  any  means.  The  doctor  said  he  was  as  mad 
as  a  hatter ;  but  this  was  an  indefinite  remark, 
worthy  of  a  doctor  who  had  never  obtained  a 
diploma,  and  required  explanation,  inasmuch  as 

.      {9) 


10 


THE  WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


it  was  impossible  to  know  how  mad  he  considered 
a  hatter  to  be.  Some  of  the  trappers  who  came 
to  the  settlement  for  powder  and  lead,  said  he 
was  as  mad  as  a  grisly  bear  with  a  whooping- 
cough,  —  a  remark  which,  if  true,  might  tend  to 
throw  light  on  the  diseases  to  which  the  grisly 
bear  is  liable,  but  which  failed  to  indicate  to  any 
one  except,  perhaps,  trappers,  the  extent  of  young 
Marston's  madness.  The  carpenter  and  the  black- 
smith of  the  place — who  were  fast  friends  and 
had  a  pitched  battle  only  once  a  month,  or  twice 
at  most — agreed  in  saying  that  he  was  as  mad  as 
a  wild  cat.  In  short,  every  one  asserted  stoutly 
that  the  boy  was  mad,  with  the  exception  of  the 
women  of  the  settlement,  who  thought  him  a 
fine,  bold,  handsome  fellow ;  and  his  own  mother, 
who  thought  him  a  paragon  of  perfection,  and 
who  held  the  opinion  (privately)  that,  in  the  wide 
range  of  the  habitable  globe,  there  was  not  an- 
other like  him  —  and  she  was  not  far  wrong ! 

Now,  the  whole  and  sole  reason  why  March 
Marston  was  thus  deemed  a  madman  was,  that 
he  displayed  an  insane  tendency,  at  all  times 
and  in  all  manners,  to  break  his  own  neck,  or  to 
make  away  with  himself  in  some  similarly  vio- 
lent and  uncomfortable  manner. 

There  was  not  a  fence  in  the  whole  country- 
side that  March  had  not  bolted  over  at  full  gallop, 
or  ridden  crash  through  if  he  could  not  go  over 
it     There  was  not  a  tree  within  a  circuit  of  foui 


YOUNG  MARSTON'S   MOTHER. 


11 


miles  from  the  top  of  which  he  had  not  fallen. 
There  was  not  a  pond  or  pool  in  the  neighbor- 
hood into  which  he  had  not  soused  at  some 
period  of  his  stormy  juvenile  career,  and  there 
was  not  a  big  boy  whom  he  had  not  fought 
and  thrashed  —  or  been  thrashed  by  —  scores  of 
times. 

But  for  all  this  March  had  not  a  single  onemy. 
He  did  his  companions  many  a  kind  turn  ;  never 
an  unkind  one.  He  fought  for  love,  not  for 
hatred.  He  loved  a  dog  —  if  any  one  kicked  it, 
he  fought  him.  He  loved  a  little  boy  —  if  any 
one  was  cruel  to  that  little  boy,  he  fought  him. 
He  loved  fair  play  —  if  any  one  was  guilty  of 
foul  play,  he  fought  him.  When  he  was  guilty 
of  foul  play  himself  (as  was  sometimes  the  case, 
for  who  is  perfect  ?)  he  felt  inclined  to  jump  out 
of  his  own  body  and  turn  about  and  thrash  him- 
self! And  he  would  have  done  so  often,  had  it 
been  practicable.  Yes,  there  is  no  doubt  what- 
ever about  it,  March  Marston  was  mad  —  as  mad, 
after  a  fashion,  as  any  creature,  human  or  other- 
wise, you  choose  to  name. 

Young  Marston's  mother  was  a  handsomo, 
stout,  blue-eyed,  flaxen-haired  woman,  of  a  little 
over  thirty-five  summers.  She  was  an  English 
emigrant,  and  had,  seventeen  years  before  the 
time  we  write  of,  settled  at  Pine  Point,  on  the 
banks  of  the  Yellowstone  River,  along  with  hei 
brother,  the  blacksmith  above  referred  to.     At 


« 


12 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


that  time  she  was  the  sweetest  maiden  in  all  th« 
village,  and  now  she  was  the  handsomest  matron. 
Indeed,  the  bloom  of  her  youth  remained  on  her 
cheeks  so  little  impaired  that  she  was  often  mis- 
taken by  strangers  for  T  arch  Marston's  elder 
sister.  The  men  of  the  place  called  her  pretty 
widow  Marston ;  but  she  was  not  a  widow  —  at 
least,  they  had  as  little  ground  for  saying  that  she 
was  as  they  had  for  asserting  that  her  son  was 
mad.  Mrs.  Marston  was  peculiarly  circumstan- 
ced, but  she  was  not  a  widow. 

The  peculiar  circumstances  connected  with  her 
history  are  soon  told.  Immediately  after  the  ar- 
rival of  the  blacksmith  and  his  pretty  sistet  at 
Pine  Point  settlement,  a  tall  stout  young  strip- 
ling—  a  trapper  —  about  a  year  older  than  her- 
self, fell  deeply  in  love  with  Mary  "West — 'that 
being  Mrs.  Marston's  maiden  name.  The  young 
trapper's  case  was  desperate.  He  sank  at  once 
so  deep  into  the  profundities  of  love,  that  no  deep- 
sea  lead,  however  ingeniously  contrived,  could 
reach  him. 

Although  just  emerging  from  boyhood,  Louis 
the  trapper  was  already  a  tall,  strong,  handsome 
man,  and  Mary  felt  flattered  by  his  attentions. 
But  when,  a  month  afterwards,  he  boldly  offered 
her  his  hand" and  fortune  (which  latter  consisted 
of  a  trapper's  costume  and  a  western  rifle),  she 
was  taken  aback  and  flatly  refused  him.  Louis 
was  hare-brained  and  passionate.     He  told  hei 


MABT  WEST  AND  HER  LOYEBS. 


13 


he  would  give  her  one  day  and  a  night  to  think 
of  it.  At  the  end  of  that  time  he  came  back 
and  was  again  refused,  for  Mary  West  had  no 
notion  of  being  taken  by  storm  in  that  fashion. 
But  she  trembled  and  grew  pale  on  observing 
the  storm  of  angry  passion  that  gleamed  from 
the  young  trapper's  eyes  and  caused  his  broad 
chest  to  heave  violently.  He  did  not  speak. 
He  did  not  even  look  at  Mary  —  had  he  done 
so,  years  of  sorrow  and  suffering  might  have 
been  spared  them  both!  He  stood  for  one 
moment  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground  — 
then  he  turned,  sprang  through  the  doorway, 
vaulted  on  his  horse,  and  went  off  from  her  cot- 
tage door  as  an  arrow  leaps  from  a  bow.  The 
fences  and  ditches  that  lay  in  his  way  were  no 
impediment.  His  powerful  steed  carried  him 
over  all  and  into  the  forest  beyond,  where  he  was 
quickly  lost  to  view.  Mary  tried  to  resume  her 
household  occupations  with  a  sigh.  She  did  not 
believe  he  was  gone.     But  he  was ! 

At  first  Mary  was  nettled ;  then  she  grew  sad ; 
as  weeks  passed  away  she  became  nettled  again, 
and  at  this  juncture  another  suitor  appeared  in 
the  shape  of  a  young  immigrant  farmer,  whose 
good  looks  and  insinuating  address  soothed  her 
irritat'on  at  the  strange,  abrupt  conduct  of  her 
lover.  She  began  to  think  that  she  must  have 
been  mistaken  in  supposing  that  she  cared  for 
the  wild  trapper — and,  in  order  to  prove  the 

2 


L4 


THE  WILD  MAN  OP  THE  WEST. 


:- 


correctness  of  her  supposition,  she  manied  Oba* 
diah  Marston,  the  farmer. 

Alas !  poor  Mary  discovered  her  error  too  late 
Marston  turned  out  a  profligate  drunkard.  A^ 
first  he  did  not  come  out  in  his  true  colors,  A 
son  was  born,  and  he  insisted  on  calling  him 
March,  for  no  other  reason  than  that  he  was 
born  in  the  month  so  named.  Mary  was  obliged 
to  consent,  and  at  last  came  to  congratulate  her- 
self that  the  child  had  been  born  in  March,  and 
nol  in  April  or  October,  or  any  other  month 
equally  unsuitable  for  a  Christian  name.  After 
the  first  year,  Obadiah  Marston  treated  his  wife 
badly,  then  brutally,  and  at  last  he  received  a 
sound  drubbing  from  his  brother-in-law,  the  black- 
smith, for  having  beaten  poor  Mary  with  a  stick. 
This  brought  things  to  a  climax.  Marston  vowed 
he  would  forsake  his  wife,  and  never  set  eyes  on 
ner  again ;  and  he  kept  his  vow.  He  embarked 
one  day  in  a  boat  that  was  going  down  to  the 
Missouri  with  a  cargo  of  furs,  and  his  poor 
mfe  never  saw  him  again.  Thus  was  Mary 
West  forsaken,  first  by  her  lover,  and  then  by 
aer  husband. 

It  was  long  before  she  recovered  the  blow ;  but 
time  gradually  reconciled  her  to  her  lot,  and  she 
devoted  herself  thenceforth  to  the  training  of  her 
little  boy.  As  years  rolled  on,  Mrs.  Marston 
recovered  her  spirits  and  her  looks ;  but,  although 
rnary  a  fine  young  fellow  sought  her  heait  and 


MARCH  MARSTON'S   MADNESS. 


15 


hand,  assuring  her  that  she  was  a  widow  —  that 
she  must  be  a  w^idow,  that  no  man  in  his  senses 
could  remain  so  long  away  from  such  a  wife 
unless  he  were  dead,  —  she  turned  a  deaf  ear  to 
them  all. 

March  Marston's  infancy  was  spent  in  yelling 
and  kicking,  with  the  exception  of  those  preter- 
naturally  calm  periods  when  he  was  employed 
in  eating  and  sleeping.  As  he  grew  older,  the 
kicking  and  yelling  decreased,  the  eating  in- 
creased, and  the  sleeping  continued  pretty  much 
the  same.  Then  came  a  period  when  he  began 
to  learn  his  A,  B,  C.  Mr^  Marston  had  been 
well  educated  for  her  station  in  life.  She  had 
read  much,  and  had  brought  a  number  of  books 
to  the  backwoods  settlement;  so  she  gave  her 
boy  a  pretty  good  education  —  as  education  went 
in  those  days,  —  and  certainly  a  much  better 
one  than  was  given  to  boys  in  such  out-of-the- 
way  regions.  She  taught  him  to  read  and 
write,  and  carried  him  on  in  arithmetic  as  far 
as  compound  division,  where  she  stuck,  having 
reached  the  extreme  limits  of  her  own  tether. 

Contemporaneously  with  the  cessation  of 
squalling  and  kicking,  and  the  acquirement  of 
the  A,  B,  C,  there  arose  in  little  March's  bosom 
unutterable  love  for  his  mother;  or,  rather,  the 
love  that  had  always  dwelt  there  began  to  well 
up  powerfully,  and  to  overflow  in  copious  streams 
of  obedience  and  considerate  attention.     About 


16 


THE   WILD   MAN  OP  THE  WEST. 


the  same  time  the  roving,  reckless  "  madness,"  as 
it  was  styled,  began  to  develop  itself.  And, 
strange  to  say,  Mrs.  Marston  did  not  check  that ! 
She  was  a  large-minded,  a  liberal-minded  woman 
that  semi-widow.  She  watched  her  son  closely, 
but  very  few  of  his  deeds  were  regarded  by  her 
in  the  light  of  faults.  Tumbling  off  trees  was 
not.  Falling  into  ditches  and  horse-ponds  was 
not.  Fighting  was,  to  some  extent;  and  on 
this  point  alone  did  mother  and  son  seem  to 
entertain  any  difference  of  opinion,  if  we  may 
style  that  difference  of  opinion  where  the  son 
fell  into  silent  and  extreme  perplexity  after  a 
short,  and  on  his  part  humble,  discussion  on  the 
subject. 

"  Why,  mother,"  said  March,  in  surprise  (hav- 
ing attained  the  mature  age  of  eight  when  he 
said  it),  "  if  a  grisly  bear  was  to  'tack  iKe,  you'd 
let  me  defend  myself,  wouldn't  you  ?  " 

Mrs.  Marston  smiled  to  see  the  rotund  little 
object  of  two-feet-ten  standing  before  the  fire 
with  its  legs  apart,  and  its  arms  crossed,  putting 
such  a  question,  and  replied,  — 

"  Certainly,  my  boy." 

"  And  when  Tom  Blake  offered  to  hit  Susy 
Jefferson,  wasn't  I  right  to  fight  him  for  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  boy,  I  think  it  right  to  fight  in  de- 
fence of  the  weak  and  helpless." 

The  object  of  two-feet-ten  began  to  swell  and 
his  eye  to  brighten  at  the  unexpected  «'uccess  of 


PRINCIPLES  OF  FIGHTING. 


17 


this  catechizing  of  its  mother,  and  went  on  to 
say  — 

"  Well,  mother,  why  do  you  blame  me  for 
fi^htin',  then,  if  it's  right  ?  " 

"  Because  fighting  is  not  always  right,  my  boy. ' 
You  had  a  fight  with  Bill  Summers,  hadn't  you, 
yesterday  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mother." 

Two-feet-ten  said  this  in  a  hesitating  tone,  and 
shrank  into  its  ordinary  proportions  as  it  con- 
tinued — 

"  But  I  didn't  licii  him,  mother,  he  licked  me. 
But  I'll  try  agaiji,  mother  —  indeed  I  will,  and 
I'll  be  sure  to  lick  him  next  time," 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  try  again,"  rejoined  Mrs. 
Marston ;  "  and  you  must  not  try  again  with- 
out a  good  reason.  Why  did  you  fight  him 
yesterday  ?  "  . 

"  Because  he  told  a  lie,"  said  the  object, 
promptly,  swelling  out  again,  and  looking  big 
under  the  impression  that  the  goodness  of  its 
reason  could  not  be  questioned.  It  was,  there- 
fore, with  a  look  of  baffled  surprise  that  it  col- 
lapsed again  on  being  told  that  that  was  not  a 
sufficient  reason  for  engaging  in  warfare,  and  that 
it  was  wrong  to  take  the  law  into  its  own  hands, 
or  to  put  in  its  word  or  its  little  fist,  where  it 
had  no  right  to  interfere, -i- and  a  great  deal  more 
to  that  effect. 

^<But  March,  my  boy,"  said   Mrs.  Marston, 

a« 


18 


THE  WILD  MAN  OP  THE  WEST. 


drawing  the  object  towards  her  and  patting  ita 
round  little  fair  head,  "  What  makes  you  so  fond 
of  fighting  ? '» 

"  I  ain't  fond  o'  fighting,  mother,  but  I  can't 
help  it." 

"  Can't  help  it !     Do  you  ever  try  ?  " 

«  I  -—  I  —  no,  I  don't  think  that  I  do.  But  I 
feel  so  funny  when  I  see  Bill  Summers  cheatin' 
at  play.  I  feel  all  over  red-hot  —  like  —  like  — 
oh !  you've  seen  the  big  pot  boilin'  over  ?  "Well, 
I  just  feel  like  Ihat.  An'  w'en  it  boils  over,  you 
know,  mother,  it  must  be  took  off  the  fire,  else  it 
kicks  up  sich  a  row  I  But  there's  nobody  to  take 
me  off  the  fiie  when  I'm  boilin'  over,  an'  there's 
no  fire  to  take  me  off —  so  you  see  I  canH  help  it. 
Can  I  ?  " 

As  the  object  concluded  these  precociously 
philosophical  remarks,  it  looked  up  in  its  mother's 
face  with  an  earnest  inquiring  gaze.  The  mother 
looked  down  at  it  with  an  equally  earnest  look, 
—  though  there  was  a  twinkle  in  each  eye  and  a 
small  dimple  in  each  cheek  that  indicated  a 
struggle  with  gravity,  —  and  said,  — 

"  I  could  stop  the  big  pot  from  boiling  over 
without  taking  it  off*  the  fire." 

"  How  ?  "  inquired  Two-feet-ten  eagerly. 

"By  letting   it  boil   over   till   it  put  the  fire 

out."  ' 

* 

The  object  opened  its  eyes  very  wide,  and 
pursed   its  mouth  very  tight;  then  it  relaxed, 


MARCH  MARSTON'S  EDUCATION. 


19 


griiikied  a  little  with  an  air  of  uncertainty,  and 
was  about  to  laugh,  but  checked  itself,  and,  with 
a  look  of  perplexity  said,  -^ 

u  Eh  ?  " 

"  Ay,  my  boy,*'  resumed  the  mother,  "just  you 
try  the  boilingrover  plan  next  time.  When  you 
feel  inclined  to  fight,  and  know,  or  think  that  you 
shouldn't,  just  stand  quite  still,  and  look  hard 
at  the  ground,  —  mind,  don't  ook  at  the  boy 
you  want  to  fight  with,  but  at  the  ground, — 
and  begin  to  count  one,  two,  three,  four,  and  so 
on,  and  Fm  quite  sure  that  when  you've  counted 
fifty  the  fire  will  be  out.     Now,  will  you  try,  my 


son 


?» 


"  Mother,"  replied  Two-feet-ten,  earnestly  (and 
becoming  at  least  two  feet  eleven  while  he  spoke), 
«  rU  try ! » 

This  ended  the  conversation  at  that  time,  and 
we  beg  leave  to  apologize  to  our  reader  for 
having  given  it  in  such  full  detail,  but  we  think 
it  necessary  to  the  forming  of  a  just  appreciation 
of  our  hero  and  his  mother,  as  it  shows  one  phase 
of  their  characters  better  thafl  could  have  been 
accomplished  by  a  labored  description. 

Before  March  Marston  had  attained  to  the  age 
of  sixteen  he  had  read  aloud  to  his  mother — not 
once,  but  several  times  —  the  "  Vicar  of  "Wake- 
field," "  Robinson  Crusoe,"  the  "  Pilgrim's  Pro-* 
gress,"  the  "  Tales  of  a  Grandfather,"  "  ^sop's 
Fables,"  and  a  variety  of  ta'es  and  stories  and 


80 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THB  WEST. 


histories  of  lesser  note  —  all  of  which  he  storeu 
up  in  a  good  memory,  and  gave  forth  in  piece- 
meal to  his  unlettered  companions  as  opportunity 
offered.  Better  than  all  this,  he  had  many  and 
many  a  time  read  his  Bible  through,  and  was 
familiar  with  all  its  leading  heroes  and  histories 
and  anecdotes. 

Thus,  it  will  be  seen  that  March  Marston  was 
quite  a  learned  youth  for  a  backwoodsman,  be- 
sides being  a  hero  and  a  ^*  madman." 


THE  GREAT  PRAIBIB. 


ftt 


CHAPTER    II. 


The  Great  Prairie.  —  A  Wild  Chose.  —  A  Remarkable  Accident  and 
an  Extraordinary  Charger,  all  of  which  terminate  in  a  Crash.  — 
Bounce  talks  Philosophy  and  tells  of  terrible  Things.  —  Our 
Hero  determines  to  beard  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West  in  his  owu 
Den. 

The  rising  sun  lifted  his  head  above  the  hori- 
zon of  the  great  western  prairie,  gilding  the 
upper  edges  of  those  swelling  undulations  that 
bear  so  strong  a  resemblance  to  solidified  bil- 
lows as  to  have  acquired  the  name  of  prairie- 
waves. 

On  the  sunny  side  of  these  waves  the  flowrets 
of  the  plains  were  already  basking  in  full  enjoy- 
ment of  the  new  day ;  on  the  summits  only  the 
tips  of  their  petals  were  turned  to  gold.  On  the 
other  side  of  those  waves,  and  down  in  the  hol- 
lows, every  thing  was  clothed  in  deep  shadow, 
as  if  the  still  undissipated  shades  of  night  were 
lingering  there,  unwilling  or  unable  to  depart 
from  so  beautiful  a  scene.  This  mingling  of 
strong  lights  and  deep  shadows  had  the  effect 
of  rendering  more  apparent  the  tremendous  mag- 
nitude of  those  vast  solitudes. 

There  were  n.>  trees  within  the  circuit  of  vision, 
but  Ihere  were  a  few  scattered  bushes,  so  low 


22 


THE  WILD   MAN  OP  THE  WEST. 


and  insignificant  in  appearance  as  to  be  quite 
unobvious  to  the  eye,  except  when  close  to  the 
feet  of  the  spectator.  Near  to  a  clump  of  these 
bushes  there  stood  two  horses  motionless,  as  if 
chiselled  in  stone,  and  with  iheir  heads  drooping 
low,  as  if  sound  asleep.  Directly  under  the  noses 
of  these  horses  lay  two  men,  each  wrapped  in  a 
blanket,  with  his  head  pillowed  on  his  saddle,  and 
his  rifle  close  at  his  side.  Both  were  also  sound 
asleep. 

About  a  mile  distant  from  the  spot  on  which 
those  sleepers  rested,  there  grew  another  small 
bush,  and  under  its  sheltering  boughs,  in  the 
snuggest  conceivable  hole,  nestled  a  grouse,  or 
prairie-hen,  also  sound  asleep,  with  its  head  lost 
in  feathers,  and  its  whole  rotund  aspect  convey- 
ing the  idc  1  of  extreme  comfort  and  good  living. 
Now  we  do  not  draw  the  reader's  attention  to 
that  bird  because  of  its  rarity,  but  because  of  the 
fact  that  it  was  unwittingly  instrumental  in  in- 
fluencing the  fortunes  of  the  two  sleepers  above 
referred  to. 

The  sun  in  his  upward  march  overtopped  a 
prairie-wave,  and  his  rays,  darting  onward,  struck 
the  bosom  of  the  prairie-hen,  and  awoke  it 
Looking  up  quickly  with  one  eye,  it  seemed  to 
find  the  glare  too  strong,  winked  at  the  sun,  and 
turned  the  other  eye.  With  this  it  winked  also, 
then  got  up,  flapped  its  wings,  rufHed  its  feathers, 
and,  after  a  pause,  sprang  into  the  air  with  that 


m 


w- 


THE  FKAIRIE-HEN. 


violent  whtr-r  which  is  so  gladdening,  yet  so 
sfjirtling  to  the  ear  of  a  sportsman.  It  was  in- 
stantly joined  by  the  other  members  of  the  covey 
to  which  it  belonged,  and  the  united  flock  went 
sweeping  past  the  sleeping  hunters,  causing  their 
horses  to  awake  with  a  snort,  and  themselves  to 
spring  to  their  feet  with  the  alacrity  of  rnen  who 
were  accustomed  to  repose  in  the  midst  of  alarms, 
and  with  a  grunt  of  surprise. 

"  Prairie-hens,"  muttered  the  elder  of  the  two, 
—  a  big,  burly  backwoodsman,  —  as  he  turned 
toward  his  companion,  with  a  quiet  smile.  "  It 
was  very  thoughtful  on  *5m  to  rouse  us,  lad, 
considerin*  the  work  that  lies  before  us." 

"  I  wish,  with  all  my  heart,  they  didn't  rise 
quite  so  early,"  replied  the  younger  man,  also  a 
stout  backwoodsman,  who  was  none  other  than 
our  hero  March  Marston  himself ;  "  I  don't  ap- 
prove of  risin'  till  one  wakes  in  the  course  of 
nature ;  d'ye  see.  Bounce  ?  " 

"  I  hear ;  but  we  can't  always  git  things  to  go 
'xactly  as  we  approves  of,"  replied  Bounce,  stoop- 
ing down  to  arrange  the  embers  of  the  previous 
night's  fire. 

Bounce's  proper  name  was  Bob  Ounce.  He 
styled  himself,  and  wrote  himself  (for  he  could 
write  to  the  extent  of  scrawling  his  own  name  in 
angularly  irregular  large  text), "  B.  Ounce."  His 
comrades  called  him  "  Bounce." 

*•  You   see,  March,"  continued   Bounce,  in  a 


24 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF   THE   WEST. 


quiet  way,  thrusting  his  rugged  countenance 
close  to  the  embers  occasionally,  and  blowing  up 
the  spark  which  he  had  kindled  by  means  of  flint, 
steel,  and  tinder  —  "you  see,  this  is  a  cur'ous 
wurld;  it  takes  a  feelosopher  to  onderstand  it 
c'rectly,  and  even  he  don't  make  much  o't  at  the 
best.  But  I've  always  noticed  that  w'en  the  time 
for  wakin'  up's  come,  we've  got  to  wake  up 
whether  we  like  it  or  no ;  d'ye  see  lad  ?  " 

"  I'd  see  better  if  you  didn't  blow  the  ashes 
into  my  eyes  in  that  way,"  answered  March, 
laughing  at  the  depth  of  his  companion's  philo- 
sophical remark.  "  But  I  say,  old  chap  "  (March 
had  no  occasion  to  call  him  "old  chap,"  foj 
Bounce  was  barely  forty),  "  what  if  we  don't  fal 
in  with  a  herd." 

"  Then  we  shall  have  to  go  home  without 
meat,  that's  all,"  replied  Bounce,  filling  and 
lighting  his  pipe. 

"  But  I  promised  my  mother  a  buffalo-hump 
in  less  than  three  days,  and  the  first  day  and 
night  are  gone." 

"  You'd  no  right  to  promise  your  mother  a 
hump,"  returned  the  plain-spoken  and  matter-of- 
fact  hunter.  "  Nobody  shud  never  go  to  promise 
what  they  can't  perform.  I've  lived,  ofl"  an'  on, 
nigh  forty  years  now,  and  I've  obsarved  them 
wot  promises  most  always  does  least;  so  if 
you'U  take  the  advice  of  an  oldish  hunter,  you'll 
give  it  up,  lad,  at  once." 


bounce's   "  FEELOSOPHY.** 


25 


«  Humph ! "  ejaculated  March, "  I  suppose  you 
[began  your  obsarvations  before  you  were  a  year 
|old,  — eh,  Bounce?" 

"  I  began  'em  afore  I  was  a  day  old.  The  first 
Ithing  I  did  in  this  life  was  to  utter  an  'orrible 
roar,  and  I  obsarved  that  immediately  I  got  a 
[drink  ;  so  I  roared  agin,  an'  got  another.  Least- 
Iwise  I've  bin  told  that  I  did,  an'  if  it  wasn't 
lobsarvation  as  caused  me  for  to  roar  w'en  I 
Iwanted  a  drink,  wot  wos  it." 

Instead    of  replying,  March   started   up,  and 
Ishading  his  eyes  with  his  right  hand,  gazed  in- 
tently toward  the  horizon. 

"  Wot  now,  lad  .' "  said  Bounce  rising  quickly 
KHa!  buffaloes  I" 

In  half  a  minute  the  cords  by  which  the  two 
lorses  were  fastened  to  pegs  driven  into  the 
)lain,  were  coiled  up;  in  another  half-minute  .the 
saddle-girths  were"  buckled ;  in  half  a  second 
lore  the  men  were  mounted  and  tearing  over 
the  prairie  like  the  wind. 

"  Ha,  lad,"  remarked  Bounce,  with  one  of  his 
juiet  smiles  —  for  he  was  a  preeminently  quiet 
lan,  —  "  but  for  them  there  prairie-hens  we'd  ha' 
slept  this  chance  away." 

The  buffaloes,  or,  more  correctly  speaking,  the 
)isons,  whi6h  young  Marston's  sharp  eye  had 
liscovered,  were  still  so  far  distant  that  tliey  ap- 
)eared  like  crows  or  little  black  specks  against 
the  sky.     In  order  to  approach  them  as  near  as 

3 


t 


\ 


26 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF   THE   WEST. 


possible  without  attracting  their  attention,  it  was 
necessary  that  the  two  horsemen  should  make  a 
wide  circuit,  so  as  to  get  well  to  leeward,  lest  the 
wind  should  carry  the  scent  of  them  to  the  herd. 
Their  horses  being  fleet,  strong,  and  fresh,  soon 
ca-rried  them  to  the  proper  direction,  when  they 
wheeled  to  the  right,  and  galloped  straight  down! 
upon  their  quarry,  without  any  further  attempt  ai| 
concealment.  The  formation  of  the  ground  fa- 
vored their  approach,  so  that  they  were  within  a| 
mile  of  the  herd  before  being  discovered. 

At  first  the  huge,  hairy  creatures  gazed  at  the! 
hunters  in  stupid  surprise  ;  then  they  turned  andl 
fled.  They  appeared,  at  the  outset,  to  run  slowlyl 
and  with  difiiculty,  and  the  plain  seemed  tol 
thunder  with  their  heavy  tread ;  for  there  could] 
not  have  been  fewer  than  a  thousand  animals  ir 
the  herd.  But  as  the  horsemen  drew  near  theyl 
increased  their  speed  and  put  the  steeds,  fleet| 
and  strong  though  ihey  were,  to  their  mettle. 

On  approaching  the  buffaloes  the  horsemen 
separated,  each  fixing  his  attention  on  a  particuJ 
larly  fat  young  cow  and  pressing  toward  itj 
Bounce  was  successful  in  coming  up  with  theT 
one  he  had  selected,  and  put  a  ball  through  ita 
heart  at  the  first  shot.  Not  so  Marston.  MisI 
fortune  awaited  him.  Having  cofhe  close  uj 
with  the  animal  he  meant  to  shoot,  he  cocked 
rifle  and  held  it  in  readiness  across  the  pomme| 
of  his  saddle,  at  the  same  time  urging  his  hors 


A  NOVEL  RIIF. 


27 


learer,  in  order  to  make  a  sure  shot.  When  the 
[horse  had  run  up  so  close  that  its  head  was  in 
[line  with  the  buffalo's  flank,  he  pointed  his  rifle 
at  its  shoulder.  At  that  precise  moment  the 
horse,  whose  attention  was  entirely  engrossed 
with  the  buffalo,  put  his  left  fore-foot  into  a 
badger-hole.  The  consequence  of  such  an  acci- 
dent is,  usually,  a  tremendous  flight  through  the 
air  on  the  part  of  the  rider,  while  his  steed  rolls 
upon  the  plain ;  but  on  the  present  occasion  a 
I  still  more  surprising  result  followed.  March 
Marston  not  only  performed  the  aerial  flight,  but 
I  he  alighted  with  considerable  violence  on  the 
back  of  the  affrighted  buffalo.  Falling  on  his 
face  in  a  sprawling  manner,  he  chanced  to  grasp 
the  hairy  mane  of  the  creature  with  both  hands, 
and,  with  a  violent  half-involuntary  effort,  suc- 
|ceeded  in  seating  himself  astride  its  back. 

The  whole  t  ling  was  done  so  instantaneously 
Ithat  he  had  scarce  time  to  realize  what  had  hap- 
pened to  him  ere  he  felt  himself  sweeping  com- 
fortably over  the  prairies  on  this  novel  and 
hitherto  unridden  steed !  A  spirit  of  wild,  un- 
I  governable  glee  instantly  arose  within  him; 
seizing  the  handle  of  the  heavy  hunting-whip, 
which  still  hung  from  his  right  wrist  by  a 
leathern  thong,  he  flourished  it  in  the  air,  and 
brought  it  down  on  his  charger's  flank  with  a 
crack  like  a  pistol-shot,  causing  the  animal  to 
wriggle  its  tail,  toss  its  ponderous  head,  alid  kick 


28 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


up  its  heels  in  a  way  that  well-nigh  unseated 
him. 

The  moment  Bounce  beheld  this  curious  appa- 
rition, he  uttered  a  short  laugh,  or  grunt,  and, 
turning  his  horse  abruptly,  soon  ranged  up 
alongside. 

"  Hallo,  March  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  are  you 
mad,  boy  ?  " 

"  Just  about  it,"  cried  Marston,  giving  the 
buffalo  another  cut  with  the  whip  as  he  looked 
round  with  sparkling  eyes  and  a  broad  grin  at 
the  hunter. 

"  Come,  now,  that  won't  do,"  said  Bounce, 
gravely.  *^  I'm  'sponsible  to  your  mother  for  you. 
Git  off"  now,  or  I'll  poke  ye  over." 

«  Git  off*! "  shouted  the  youth,  «  hov/  can  I  ?  ' 

"  Well,  keep  yer  right  leg  a  bit  to  one  side, 
an'  I'll  stop  yer  horse  for  ye,"  said  Bounce,  coolly 
cocking  his  rifle. 

"  Hold  hard,  old  fellow ! "  cried  Marston  in 
some  alarm  ;  "  you'll  smash  my  thigh-bone  if  you 
try.     Stay,  I'll  do  the  thing  myself." 

Saying  this,  Marston  drew  his  long  hunting- 
Knife,  and  plunged  it  into  the  buffalo's  side. 

"  Lower  down,  lad  —  lower  down.  Ye  can't 
reach  the  life  there." 

March  bent  forward,  and  ^lunged  his  knife 
into  the  animal's  side  again  —  up  to  the  hilt ;  but 
it  still  kept  on  its  headlong  course,  although  the 
blood  flowed  in  streams  upon  the  plain.     The 


marston's  reward. 


20 


remainder  of  the  buffaloes  had  diverged  right 
and  left,  leaving  this  singular  group  alone. 

"  Mind  your  eye,"  said  Bounce,  quickly,"  she's 
a-soin'  to  fall." 

Unfortunately  Marston  had  not  time  given 
him  to  mind  either  his  eye  or  his  neck.  The 
wounded  buffalo  stumbhid,  and  fell  to  the  ground 
with  a  sudden  and  heavy  plunge,  sending  its  wild 

I  rider  once  again  on  an  aerial  journey,  which 
terminated  in  his  coming  down  on  the  plain  so 

I  violently  that  he  was  rendered  insensible. 

On  recovering  consciousness,  he  found  himself 

llying  on  his  back,  in  what  seemed  to  be  a  beau- 
tiful forest,  through  which  a  stream  flowed  with 
a  gentle,  silvery  sound.  The  bank  opposite  rose 
considerably  higher  than  the  spot  on  which  he 

[lay,  and  he  could  observe,  through  his  half-closed 

leye-lids,  that  its  green  slope  was  gemmed  with 

Ibeautiful  flowers,  and  gilded  with  patches  of  sun- 

llight  that  struggled  through  the  branches  over- 

Ihead. 

Young  Marston's  first  impression  was  that  he 

[must  be  dreaming,  and  that  he  had  got  into  one 
)f  the  fairy-tale  regions  about  which  he  had  so 
)ften  read  to  his  mother.  A  shadow  seemed  to 
)ass  over  his  eyes  as  he  thought  this,  and,  looKing 

kip,  he  beheld  the  rugged  face  of  Bounce  gazing 
it  him  with  an  expression  of  considerable  inter- 
est and  anxiety. 

"  I  say,  Bounce,  this  is  jolly ! "  % 

8»    • 


im  \ 


^ft  ' 


80 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


"  Is  it  ?  "  replied  the  hunter  with  a  "  humph !  '* 
*  If  ye  try  to  lift  your  head,  I  guess  you'll  change 
yer  opinion." 

Marston  did  try  to  raise  his  head,  and  did 
change  his  opinion.  His  neck  felt  as  if  it  were  a 
complication  of  iron  hinges,  which  had  become 
exceedingly  rusty,  and  stood  much  in  need  of  oil. 

"  Oh,  dear !  "  groaned  Marston,  letting  his 
head  fall  back  on  the  saddle  from  which  he  had 
raised  it.  ' 

'*  Ah,  I  thought  so !  "  remarked  Bounce. 

"  And  is  that  all  the  sympathy  you  have  got  to  I 
give  me,  you  old  savage  ?  "  said  the  youth,  testily. 

"  By  no  means,"  replied  the  other,  patting  his 
head ;  here's  a  drop  o'  water  as  '11  do  ye  good,  lad,| 
and  after  you've  drunk  it,  I'll  rub  ye  down." 

"  Thankee  for  the  water,"  said  Marston,  with  al 
deep  sigh,  as  he  lay  back,  after  drinking  withl 
difficulty ;  "  as  lo  the  rubbin'  down,  I'U  ask  fori 
that  when  I  want  it.  But  tell  me.  Bounce,, what! 
has  happened  to  me  ?  —  oh !  I  remember  now,  —I 
the  buffalo  cow  and  that  famous  gallop.  Ha!| 
ha!  ha!— ^ ho— o!" 

Mariston's  laugh  terminated  in  an  abrupt  groan] 
as  the  rusty  hinges  again  clamored  for  oil. 

'*  You'll  have  to  keep  quiet,  boy,  f  )r  a  fewl 
hours,  and  take  a  sleep  if  you  can.  I'll  roast  al 
bit  o'  meat  and  rub  ye  down  with  fat  afl  pt  you've! 
eat  as  much  of  it  as  ye  can.  There's  no  thing  likel 
beef  for  a  sick  man's  inside,  an'  fat  for  his  outride 


SMOKING   A  TOMAHAWK. 


yi 


j  — that's  the  feelosophy  of  the  whole  matter. 
You've  a'most  bin  bu'sted  wP  that  there  fall ;  but 
you'll  be  all  right  to-morrow.  An'  you've  killed 
yer  buffalo,  lad,  so  yer  mother  '11  get  the  hump 
after  all.  Only  keep  yer  mind  easy,  an'  I  gueaa 
[human  natur  '11  do  all  the  rest." 

Having  delivered  himself  of  these  sentiments  in 

la  quietly  oracular  manner.  Bounce  again  patted 

March  on  the  head,  as  if  he  had  been  a  large 

(baby  or  a  favorite  dog,  and,  rising  up,  proceeded 

|to  kindle  a  small  fire,  and  to  light  his  pipe. 

Bounce  smoked  a  tomahawk,  which  is  a  small 
[iron  hatchet  used  by  most  of  the  Indians  of  North 
[America  as  a  battle-axe.     There  is  an  iron  pipe- 
)owl  on  the  top  of  the  weapon,  and  the  handle, 
[which  is  hollow,  answers  the  purpose  of  a  pipe- 
stem.  . 

The  hunter  continued  to  smoke,  and  Marston 
jontinued  to  gaze  at  him  till  he  fell  asleep.  When 
le  awoke.  Bounce  was  still  smoking  the  toma- 
lawk  in  the  self-same  attitude.  The  .youth  might 
lave  concluded  that  he  had  been  asleep  only  a  few 
linutes  and  that  his  friend  had  never  moved ;  but 
le  was  of  an  observant  nature,  and  noticed  that 
there  was  a  savory,  well-cooked  buffalo  steak 
lear  the  fire,  and  that  a  strong  odor  of  marrow- 
)ones  tickled  his  nostrils  —  also,  that  the  sun  no 
longer  rested  on  the  green  bank  opposite.  Hence, 
\\e  concluded  that  he  must  have  slept  a  consider- 
ible  time,  and  that  the  tomahawk  had  been  filled 
ind  emptied  more  than  once* 


3d 


THE  WILD  MAN  OP  THE  WEST. 


"  Well,  lad,"  said  Bounce,  looking  round, "  hauj 
a  comf'able  nap?" 

"  How  did  you  know  I  was  awake  ?  "  said  I 


March.     "  You  weren't  looldng  at 


me,  and  ]| 


didn't  move." 

"  P'r'aps  not,  lad ;  but  you  winked." 
*J  And,  pray,  how  do  you  know  that  ?  " 
"'Cause  ye  couldn't  wink  if  ye  was  asleep, 
an'  I  heerd  ye  breathe  diff 'rent  from  afore,  so  1 1 
know'd  ye  wos  awake;  an'  I  knows  that  a  man 
always  winks  w'en  he  comes  awake,  d'ye  see! 
That's  wot  I  calls  the  feelosophy  of  obsarvation." 
"  Very   good,"   replied   Marston,   "  and,   that 
bein'  the  case,  I  should  like  much  to  try  a  little  | 
of  the  *  feelosophy '  of  supper." 

"  Right,  lad,  here  you  are ;  there's  nothin'  like  I 
it,"  rejoined  Bounce,  handing  a  pewter  plate  of  [ 
juicy  steak  and  marrow-bones  to  his  young  com- 
panion. • 

Marston  attained  a  sitting  posture  with  much  I 
difficulty  and  pain ;  but  when  he  had  eaten  the| 
steak  and  the  marrow-bone  he  felt  much  better; 
and  when  he  had  swallowed  a  cup  of  hot  tea  (fori 
they  carried  a  small  quantity  of  tea  and  sugar 
with  them,  by  way  of  luxury),  he  felt  immensely 
better;   and  when  he  finally  lay  down  for  the 
night  he  felt  perfectly  well, —  always  excepting  a 
sensation  of  general  batteredness  about  the  back, 
and  a  feeling  of  rusty-hinge ^s-wanting-oiliness  iii| 
the  region  of  the  neck. 


# 


bounce's  story. 


33 


«  Now,  Bounce,"  said  he,  as  he  lay  down  and 
pulled  his  blanket  over  his  shoulder,  "  are  the 
horses  hobbled,  and  the  rifles  loaded,  and  my 
mother's  hump  out  o'  the  way  of  wolves  ?  " 

"  All  right,  lad." 

"  Then,  Bounce,  you  go  ahead,  and  tell  me  a 
story  till  I'm  off  asleep.  Don't  stop  tellin'  till 
I'm  safe  off.  Pull  my  nose  to  make  sure  ;  and 
if  I  don't  say  '  hallo ! '  to  that,  I'm  all  right  —  in 
the  land  of  Nod." 

March  Marston  smiled  as  he  said  this,  and 
Bounce  grinned  by  way  of  reply. 

"  Wot'll  I  tell  ye  about,  boy  ?  " 

"  I  don't  mind  what —  Indians,  grislies,  buffa- 
loes, Wrappers, —  it's  all  one  to  me;  only  begin 
quick,  and  go  ahead  strong." 

"  Well,  I  ain't  great  at  story  tellin'!  P'raps  ii 
would  be  more  to  the  p'int  if  I  was  to  tell  ye 
about  what  I  heered  tell  of  on  ^y  last  trip  to 
ihe  Mountains.  Did  I  ever  tell  ye  about  the 
feller  as  the  trappers  that  goes  to  the  far  North 
caUs  the  '  Wild  Man  o'  the  West  ? ' " 

"  No ;  what  was  he  ?  "  said  IMarston,  yawning 
and  closing  his  eyes. 

"  I  dun  know  'xacily  wot  he  was.  I'm  not 
overly  sure  that  I  even  know  what  he  is,  but  I 
imow  what  the  trappers  says  of  him  ;  an'  if  omy 
the  half  o't's  true,  he's  a  shiner,  he  is." 

Having  said  thus  much,  Bounce  filled  his 
tomahawk,  lighted  it,  puffed  a  large  cloud  from 


•rii 


•*«■ 


^■Mi^ 


34 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF   THE  WEST. 


it,  and  looked  through  the  smoke  at  his  com« 
panion. 

March,  whose  curio:ity  was  aroused,  partly 
by  the  novelty  of  the  «  Wild  Man's  "  title,  and 
partly  by  the  lugubrious  solemnity  of  Bounce, 
said, — 

"  Go  on,  old  boy." 

"  Ha!  it's  easy  to  say,  *  Go  on;'  but  if  you 
know'd  the  'orrible  things  as  is  said  about  the 
Wild  Man  o'  the  Mountains,  p'raps  you'd  say, 
'  Go  oft'.'     It  '11  make  yer  blood  froze." 

"  Never  mind." 

"  An'  yer  hair  git  up  on  end.'*  \ 

" Don't  care.' 

"  An'  yer  two  eyes  start  out  o'  yer  head." 

«  All  right." 

Bounce,  who  was  deeply  superstitious,  looked 
at  his  young  friend  with  severe  gravity  for  at 
least  two  mintftes.  Marston,  who  was  not  quite 
so  superstitious,  looked  at  his  comrade  for  ex- 
actly the  same  length  of  time,  and  winked  with 
one  eye  at  the  end  of  it. 

"  They  says,"  resumed  Bounce,  in  a  deep  tone, 
"  the  Wild  Man  o'  the  West  cats  men  !  " 

"  Don't  he  eat  women  ? "  inquired  March, 
sleepily. 

"  Yes,  an'  childers  too.  An'  wot's  wuss,  he 
eats  'em  raw,  an'  they  say  he  once  swallered  one — 
a  little  one  —  alive,  without  chewin'  or  chokin'  I "  j 
("  Horrible ! "  murtiured  March.)    "  He's  a  dead 


bounce's  story. 


35 


shot,  too;  he  carries  a  double-barrelled  rifle 
twenty  foot  long  that  takea  a  small  cannon-ball. 
I  forgot  to  tell  ye  he's  a  giant — some  o'  the  trap- 
pers calls  him  the  *  giant  o'  the  hills,'  and  they 
say  he's  'bout  thirty  feet  high  —  some  says  forty. 
But  there's  no  gittin'  at  the  truth  in  this  hero 
wurld." 

Bounce  paused  here,  but,  as  his  companion 
made  no  observation,  he  went  on  in  a  half-solilo- 
quizing fashion,  looking  earnestly  a^  the  time 
into  the  heart  of  the  fire,  as  if  he  were  addressing 
his  remarks  to  a  salamander. 

"  Ay,  he's  a  crack  shot,  as  I  wos  sayin'.  One 
day  he  fell  in  with  a  grisly  bear,  an'  the  br.ute 
rushed  at  him  ;  so  he  up  rifle  an'  puts  a  ball  up 
each  nose  "  —  ("  I  didn't  know  a  grisly  had  two 
noses,"  murmured  March),  —  "  an' loaded  agin', 
an'  afore  it  comed  up  he  put  a  ball  in  each  eye ; 
then  he  drew  his  knife  an'  split  it  i^ght  down  the 
middle  from  nose  to  tail  at  one  stroke,  an'  cut  it 
across  with  another  stroke  ;  an',  puttin'  one  quar- 
ter on  his  head,  he  took  another  quarter  under 
each  arm,  an'  the  fourth  quarter  in  his  mouth, 
and  so  walked  home  to  his  cave  in  the  moun- 
tains—  'bout  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  off*, 
where  he  roasted  .iii^  6.t3'  the  whole  bear  at  one 
sittin'  —  bones,  hair,  ai/  all !  " 
1;'  Th'is'fiig'ht^yas  too  strong  for  March.  He  burst 
int6  a* 'fit '  of ' laugh'tW,  wh(clii.  ^tllSd  the  rusty 
hinges  into  violent  action  and  prpduced  a  groan 


I      0    0     ** 

0  " 


0   a 


^- 


36 


THE   WILD   MAN   OP  IHE  WEST. 


rv 


riic  laugh  and  the  groan  together  banished 
drowsiness?,  so  he  turned  on  his  back,  and  said,  — 

"  Bounce,  do  you  really  believe  all  that  ?  '* 

Thus  pointedly  questioned  on  what  he  felt  to 
be  a  delicate  point,  Bounce  drew  a  great  number 
of  whids  from  the  tomahawk  ere  he  ventured  to 
n^ply.     At  length  he  said,  — 

"  Well,  to  say  truth,  an'  takin'  a  feelosophicul 
view  o'  the  p'int — I  doti't.  But  I  b'lieve  some 
of  it.  I  do  b'lieve  there's  some  'xtraord'nary  crit- 
ter in  them  there  mountains  —  for  I've  lived  nif^h 
forty  years  —  off  and  on  —  in  these  parts,  an'  I've 
always  obsarved  that  in  this  wurld  w^'enever  ye 
find  ani/  ihin^  ye've  always  got  somethin\  No- 
body never  got  hold  o'  somethin'  an'  found  after- 
wards that  it  was  not  hi  n'.  So  I  b'lieve  there's 
somethin'  in  this  wild  man  —  how  much  I  dun 
know." 

Bounce  foU^ed  up  this  remark  with  a  minute 
account  of  the  reputed  dev^ds  of  this  mysteiious 
creature,  all  of  which  were  -ore  or  less  marvel- 
lous ;  and  at  length  succeeded  in  interesting  his 
young  companion  so  deeply,  as  to  fill  him  with  a 
good  deal  of  his  own  belief  in  at  least  a  wild 
something  that  dwelt  in  the  heart  of  the  Rocky 

Mountains.  *  •  i  ',  '. '  I ' 

.  •  « •  •    • 

After  a  great  deal  ofi.t&lE;,  and  prolonged  dis- 
cussion, Bpujice  cqncludi?d  wi4h'the^smiDn4hat'. 
" ho'd-giye .b'»s  ;best  rifle,  ,4a!  that.  !was  his  only' 
Dne,  to  see  this  wild  man.",. ..    ,       ••  o% 


,    1     4. '"'o    0    »   6 


THE   TRAILERS. 


87 


To  which  Mars  ton  replied,  — 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Bounce,  I  will  see  this 
wild  man,  if  it's  in  the  power  of  bones  and  mus- 
cles to  carry  me  within  eyeshot  of  him.  Now, 
pee  if  I  don't." 

Bounce  nodded  his  head  and  looked  sagacious, 
as  hL'  said,  — 

"  D'ye  know,  lad,  I  don't  mind  if  I  go  along 
with  ye.  It's  true,  I'm  not  tired  of  them  parts 
hereabouts — and  if  I  wos  to  live  till  I  couldn't 
see,  I  don't  think  as  ever  I'd  git  tired  o'  the  spot 
whore  my  father  larned  me  to  shoot  an'  my 
mother  dandled  me  on  her  knee;  but  I've  got  a 
fancy  to  see  a  little  more  o'  the  wurld,  —  'specially 
the  far  off  parts  o'  the  Rocky  Mountains,  w'ere 
I've  never  bin  yit;  so  I  do  b'lieve  if  ye  wos  to  try 
an'  persuade  me  very  hard  I'd  consent  to  go 
along  with  ye." 

"  Will  you,  though  ?  "  cried  ^arch,  eagerly 
(again,  to  his  cost,  forgetting  the  rusty  hinges). 

"Ay,  that  will  I,  boy,"  replied  the  hunter; 
"  an'  now  I  think  on  it,  there's  four  as  jolly 
trappers  in  Pine  Point  settlement  at  this  here 
moment,  as  ever  floored  a  grisly  or  fought  an 
Injun.  They're  the  real  sort  of  metal.  None  o' 
yer  tearin',  swearin',  murderin'  chaps,  as  thinks 
the  more  they  curse  the  bolder  they  are,  an'  the 
more  Injuns  they  kill  the  cliverer  they  are ;  but 
steady  quiet  fellers,  as  don't  speak  much,  but  does 
a  powerful  quantity ;  boys  that  know  a  deer  from 


3d 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


a  Blackfoot  Injun,  1  guess;  that  goes  to  the 
mountains  to  trap  and  comes  back  to  sell  their 
skins,  an'  w'en  they've  sold  'em,  goes  right  off 
agin,  an'  niver  drinks." 

"  I  know  who  you  mean,  I  think ;  at  least  I 
know  one  of  them,"  observed  March. 

«  No  ye  don't,  do  ye  ?     Who  ?  " 

"Waller,  the  Yankee." 

"  That's  one,"  said  Bounce,  nodding ;  "  Big 
Waller,  we  calls  him." 

"  I'm  not  sure  that  I  can  guess  the  others. 
Surely  Tim  Slater  isn't  one  ?  " 

"  No ! "  said  Bounce,  with  an  emphasis  of  tone 
and  a  peculiar  twist  of  the  point  of  his  nose  that 
went  far  to  stamp  the  individual  named  with  a 
character  the  reverse  of  noble.     "  Try  agin." 

"  I  can't  guess." 

"  One's  a  French  Canadian,"  said  Bounce  ;  "  a 
little  chap,  wi^^  a  red  nose  an'  a  pair  o'  coal- 
black  eyes,  but  as  bold  as  a  lion." 

"  I  know  him,"  interrupted  March ;  "  Gibault 
Noir  —  Black  Gibault,  as  they  sometimes  call 
him.     Am  I  right  ?  " 

"  Right,  lad ;  that's  two.  Then  there's  Hawks- 
wing,  the  Injun  whose  wife  and  family  were  all 
murdered  by  a  man  of  his  own  tribe,  and  who 
left  his  people  after  that  an'  tuck  to  trappin'  with 
the  whites ;  that's  three.  An'  there's  Redhand, 
the  old  trapper  tjiat's  bin  off  and  on  between  this 
place  and  the  Rocky  Mountains  for  nigh  fifty 
years,  I  b'lieve." 


MAECH  MARSTON   AT   HOME. 


89 


«  Oh,  I  know  him  well.  He  must  be  made 
of  iron,  I  think,  to  go  through  what  he  does  at 
his  time  of  life.     I  wonder  what  his  right  name 

is?"  ■    -•  '    -    ■       • 

"  Nobody  knows  that,  lad.  You  know,  as  well 
as  I  do,  that  he  wos  called  Redhand  by  the  Injuns 
in  consekence  o'  the  lot  o'  grislies  he's  killed  in 
his  day ;  bat  nobody  never  could  git  at  his  real 
name.  P'rhaps  it's  not  worth  gittin'  at.  Now, 
them  four  '11  be  startin'  in  a  week  or  two  for 
the  mountains,  an'  wot's  to  hinder  us  a  jinin'  of 
them?" 

To  his  own  question  Bounce,  after  a  pause, 
replied  with  deliberate  emphasis,  "  Nothin'  what- 
somedivir;"  and  his  young  companion  heartily 
echoed  the  sentiment. 

Exactly  thirty-six  hours  after  the  satisfactory 
formation  of  the  above  resolution,  March  Marston 
galloped  furiously  toward  the  door  of  his  mothers 
cottage,  reined  up,  leaped  to  th^  ground,  seized 
the  buffalo  hump  that  hung  at  his  saddle-bow, 
and  entered  with  a  good  deal  of  that  impetuosity 
that  had  gone  far  to  procure  for  him  the  title  of 
madman.  Flinging  the  bloody  mass  of  meat  on 
the  floor  he  sat  down  on  a  chair,  and  said  — 

"  There,  mother." 

"  Well,  you  are  a  clever  fello.w,"  said  Mrs. 
Marston,  drying  her  hands  (for  she  had  been 
washing  dishes),  and  giving  her  son  a  hearty  kiss 
on  the  forehead. 


i 


40 


THE   WILD   MA:^    of   THE   WEST. 


"  Clever  or  not  clever,  mother,  Tin  off  to  the 
Rocky  Mountains  in  two  days." 

Mrs.  Marston  was  neither  dismayed  nor  sur- 
prised. She  was  used  to  that  sort  of  thing,  and 
lidn't  mind  it. 

"  What  to  do  there,  my  boy  ?  " 

«  To  see  the  Wild  Man  o'  the  West." 

"The  what?" 

«  The  Wild  Man  o'  Ihe  West,  mother." 

It  is  needless  to  try  our  reader's  patience  with 
the  long  conversation  that  followed.  March  had 
resolved  to  preach  a  discourse  with  the  "  Wild 
Man  o'  the  West "  for  his  text,  and  he  preached 
so  elovjuently  that  his  mother  (who  was  by  no 
means  a  timid  woman)  at  length  not  only  agreed 
to  let  him  go,  but  commended  him  for  his  reso- 
lution. The  only  restraint  she  laid  upon  her 
son  had  reference  to  his  behavior  toward  the 
Wild  Man,  if  he  should  happen  to  meet  with 
him. 

"  You  may  look  at  him  March  (Mrs.  Marston, 
spoke  of  him  as  if  he  were  a  caged  wiM  beast! ), 
and  you  may  speak  to  him,  but  you  must  not 
fight  with  him,  except  in  self-defence.  If  he  lets 
you  alone,  you  must  let  him  alone.  Promise  me 
that,  boy."  ; 

"  I  promise,  mother." 

Not  long  after  this  promise  was  made,  a  light 
bark-canoe  was  launched  upon  the  river,  and  into 
it  stepped  our  hero,  with  his  friend  Bounce,  and 


DEPARTUEE   FOR   THE   ROCKY   MOUNTAINS.       41 


Bio-  Waller,  Black  Gibault,  Hawkswing,  and 
Redhand,  the  trappers.  A  cheer  rang  from  the 
end  of  the  little  wharf  at  Pine  Point,  as  the  frail 
craft  shot  out  into  the  stream.  The  wild  woods 
echoed  back  the  cheer,  which  mingled  with  the 
lusty  answering  shout  of  the  trappers  as  they 
waved  their  caps  to  the  friends  they  left  behind 
them.  Then,  dipping  their  paddles  with  strong 
rapid  strokes,  they  headed  the  canoe  toward  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  and  soon  disappeared  up  one 
of  those  numerous  tributary  streams  that  consli- 
tute  the  head- waters  of  the  Missouri  river. 


4-* 


% 


42 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


• 


CHAPTER    III. 

The  Beauties  of  the  "Wilderness.  —  Portages.  —  Philosophy  of  Set- 
tling Down.  —  An  Enormous  Footprint.  —  Supper  procured,  and  a 
Bear-hunt  in  prospect. 

After  paddliiig,  and  hauling,  and  lifting,  and 
tearing,  and  v.  ading,  and  toiling,  and  struggling, 
for  three  weeks,  our  hero  and  his  friends  found 
themselves  deep  in  the  heart  of  the  unknown 
wilderness  —  unknown,  at  least,  to  the  civilize<i 
world,  though  not  altogether  unknown  to  the 
trappers  and  the  Red  Indians  of  the  Far  West. 

There  is  something  inexpressibly  romantic  and 
captivating  in  the  idea  of  traversing  those  wild 
regions  of  this  beautiful  world  of  ours  which 
have  never  been  visited  by  human  beings,  with 
the  exception  of  the  few  wandering  savages  who 
dwell  therein. 

So  thought  and  felt  young  Marston,  one 
splendid  afternoon,  as  he  toiled  up  to  the  summit 
of  a  grassy  mound  w4th  a  heavy  pack  on  his 
shoulders.  Thro^ving  down  the  pack',  he  seated 
himself  upon  it,  wiped  his  heated  brow  with  the 
sleeve  of  his  hunting-shirt,  and  gazed  with  delight 
upon  the  noble  landscape  that  lay  spread  out 
before  him. 


BEAUTIES   OF  THE   WILDERNESS. 


43 


«Ha!  that^s  the  sort  o' thing  —  that's  it!"  — 
he  exclaimed,  nodding  his  head,  as  if  the  rich  and 
picturesque  arrangement  of  wood  and  water  had 
been  got  up  expressly  for  his  benefit,  and  he  were 
pleased  to  signify  his  entire  approval  of  it. 

"  That's  just  it,"  he  continued,  after  a  short 
contemplative  pause,  "just  what  I  expected  to 
find.     Ain't  I  glad?  eh  I" 

March  certainly  looked  as  if  he  was;  but, 
being  at  that  moment  alone,  no  one  replied  t( 
his  question  or  shared  his  enjoyment.  After 
another  short  pause  he  resumed  his  audible  med- 
itations. • 

"  Now,  d  d  ever  any  one  see  sich  a  place  as 
this  in  all  the  wide  'arth  ?  That's  what  I  want 
to  know.  Never !  Just  look  at  it  now.  There's 
milfcS  an'  miles  o'  woods  an'  plains,  an'  lakes,  an' 
rivers,  wherever  I  choose  to  look  —  all  round  me. 
And  there  are  deer,  too,  lots  of  'em,  lookin'  quite 
tame,  and  no  wonder,  for  I  suppose  the  fut  of 
man  never  rested  here  before,  except,  may-'be,  the 
fut  of  a  redskin  now  an'  again.  And  there's 
poplars,  an'  oaks,  an'  willows,  as  thick  as  they 
can  grow." 

March  might  have  added  that  there  were  also 
elm,  and  sycamore,  and  ash,  and  hickory,  and 
walnut,  and  cotton-wood  trees  in  abundance, 
with  numerous  aspen  groves,  in  the  midst  of 
which  w^ere  lakelets  margined  with  reeds  and 
hare-bells,  and  red  willows,  and  wild  roses,  and 


44 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


choke-berries,  and  prickly  pears,  and  red  and 
white  currants.  Ke  might,  we  say,  have  added 
all  this,  and  a  great  deal  more,  with  perfect 
truth ;  but  he  didn't,  for  his  knowledge  of  the 
names  of  such  things  was  limited,  so  he  confined 
himself,  like  a  wise  youth,  to  the  enumeration  of 
those  things  that  he  happened  to  be  acquainted 
with 

"  And,"  continued  March,  starting  up  and 
addressing  his  remark  to  a  hollow  in  the  ground 
a  few  yards  ofl^,  "  there's  grisly  bars  here,  too,  for 
there's  the  fut-mark  of  one,  as  sure  as  I'm  a 
white  man ! " 

Most  people  would  have  been  inclined  to  differ 
with  March  in  regard  to  his  being  a  white  man, 
for  he  was  as  brown  as  constant  exposure  in  hot 
weather  could  make  him ;  but  he  referred  to  his 
blood  rather  than  to  his  skin,  which  was  that  of 
white  parents. 

The  footprint  which  he  had  discovered  was, 
indeed,  that  of  a  grisly  bear,  and  he  examined  it 
with  more  than  usual  interest,  for,  although 
many  of  those  ferocious  denizens  of  the  western 
woods  had  been  already  seen,  and  a  few  shot  by 
the  trappers  on  their  voyage  to  this  point,  none 
had  been  seen  so  large  as  the  monster  whose 
footprint  now  attracted  Marston's  attention. 
The  print  was  eleven  inches  long,  exclusive  of 
the  clav^'s,  and  seven  inches  broad. 

Whil^  March  was  busily  engaged  in  exarain- 


m 


BLACK   GIBAULT. 


4d 


iii*T  it,  Black  Gibault  came  panting  up  the  hill 
wilb  a  huge  pack  on  his  back. 

"  Ho  I  March,  me  gar(;on,  v'at  you  be  find  \\  ?  " 
cried  the  Canadian,  throwing  down  his  pack,  and 
advancing. 

"  A  bar,  Gibault ;  Caleb  himself.  A  regular 
big  un,  too.    Just  look  here." 

"  Ah !  oui,  vraiment ;  dat  am  be  one  exton- 
ishin'  vopper,  sure  ^luft*.  Mais,  him's  gone  pass 
long  ago,  so  you  better  come  avay  an'  finish  de 
portage." 

"  Not  I,  lad,"  cried  March,  gaily,  as  he  flung 
himstlf  upon  the  grassy  mound;  "I'm  goin'  to 
admire  this  splendid  country  till  I'm  tired  of  it, 
and  leave  you  and  the  other  fellows  to  do  the 
work." 

"  Oh !  ver'  goot,"  replied  Gibault,  sitting  down 
beside  our  hero,  and  proceeding  to  fill  his  ^Jpe, 
"  I  will  'mire  de  contray,  too,  Ha  I  it  be  unmark- 
ibly  beautiful  —  specially  when  beholded  troo 
one  cloud  of  tabacco  smoke." 

"  Alas  I  Gibault,  we'll  have  to  move  ofl"  sooner 
than  we  expected,  for  there  it  comes." 

The  two  friends  leaped  up  simultaneously, 
and,  seizing  their  packs,  humed  down  the 
mound,  entered  the  thick  bushes,  and  vanished. 

The  object  whose  sudden  appearance  had  occa- 
sioned this  abrupt  departure  would,  in  truth,  have 
been  somewhat  singular,  not  to  say  alarming,  in 
aspect,  to  those  who  did  not  know  its  nature.     A1 


I 

r  ; 

I, 

I 


46 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF   THE   WEST. 


a  distance,  it  looked  lilce  one  of  those  horrible 
antediluvian  monsters  one  reads  of,  with  a  lank 
body,  about  thirty  feet  Jong.  It  was  reddish 
yellow  in  color,  and  came  on  at  a  slow  crawling 
pace,  its  back  appearing  occasionally  above  Ihe 
underwood.  Presently  its  outline  became  more 
defined,  and  it  turned  out  to  be  a  canoe  instead 
of  an  antediluvian  monster,  with  Big  Waller  and 
Bounce  acting  the  part  of  legs  to  it.  Old  Red- 
hand,  the  trapper,  and  Hawkswing,  the  Indian, 
walked  alongside,  ready  to  relieve  their  comrades 
when  they  should  grow  tired,  —  for  a  large  canoe 
is  a  heavy  load  for  two  men,  —  or  to  assist  th^m 
in  unusually  bad  places,  or  to  support  them 
and  prevent  accidents,  should  they  chance  to 
stumble. 

"  Have  a  care  now,  lad,  at  the  last  step,"  said 
Redhand,  who  walked  a  little  in  advance. 

"  Yer  help  would  be  better  than  yer  advice, 
old  feller,"  replied  Bounce,  as  he  stepped  upon 
the  ridge  or  mound  which  Marston  and  his  com- 
panion had  just  quitted.  "  Lend  a  hand ;  we'll 
take  a  spell  here.  I  do  believe  my  shoulder's  out 
o'  joint.     There,  gently,  —  that's  it." 

"  Wall,  I  guess  this  is  Eden,"  cried  Big  Wal 
ler,  gazing  around  him  with  unfeigned  delight. 
"  Leastwise,  if  it  ain't,  it  must  be  the  very  nixt 
location  to  them  there  diggins  of  old  father 
Adam.     Ain't  it  splendifi.irous  ?  " 

Big  Waller  was  an  out-and-out  Yankee  trap- 


BIG  WALLER  AND   HAWKSWING. 


47 


per.  It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  all  Yankees 
«  guess,"  and  "  calculate  "  and  talk  through  their 
noses.  There  are  many  who  don't,  as  well  as 
luany  who  do ;  but  certain  it  is  that  Big  Waller 
possessed  all  these  peculiarities  in  an  alarming 
degree.  Moreover,  he  was  characteristically  thin, 
and  tall,  and  sallow.  Nevertheless,  he  was  a 
hearty,  good-natured  fellow,  not  given  to  boasting 
so  much  as  most  of  his  class,  but  much  more 
given  to  the  performance  of  daring  deeds.  In 
addition  to  his  other  qualities,  the  stout  Yankee 
nad  a  loud,  thundering,  melodious  voice,  which 
he  was  fond  of  using,  and  tremendous  activity  of 
body,  which  he  was  fond  of  exhibiting. 

He  was  quite  a  contrast,  in  all  respects  to  his 
Indiarj  companion,  Hawkswing,  who,  although 
about  as  tall,  was  not  nearly  so  massive  or  power- 
ful. Like  most  North  American  Indians,  he  was 
grave  and  taciturn  in  disposition ;  in  other  re- 
spects, there  was  nothing  striking  about  him. 
He  was  clad,  like  his  comrades,  in  a  trapper's 
hunting  shirt  and  leggings;  but  he  scorned  to 
use  a  cap  of  any  kind,  conceiving  that  his  thick, 
straight  black  hair  was  a  sufficient  covering,  as, 
undoubtedly  it  was.  He  was  as  courageous  a& 
most  men  ;  a  fair  average  shot,  and,  when  occa- 
sion required,  as  lithe  and  agile  as  a  panther ;  but 
he  was  not  a  hero  ;  few  savages  are.  He  pos- 
sessed one  good  quality,  however,  beyond  his 
kinsmen  ;  he  preferred  mercy  to  revenge,  and  did 


49 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


not  glorit  over  the  idea  of  tearing  the  scalps  off 
his  enemies,  and  fringing  his  coat  and  leggings 
therewdih. 

"  'Tis  a  sweet  spot,"  said  Redhand  to  his  com- 
rades, who  stood  or  reclined  in  various  attitudes 
around  him.  "  Such  a  place  as  I've  often  thought 
of  casting  anchor  in  for  life." 

"  An'  wliy  don't  ye,  then  ?  "  inquired  Waller. 
"  If  I  was  Ihinkin'  o'  locating  down  any  whar',  I 
guess  I'd  jine  ye,  old  man.  But  I'm  too  fond  o' 
rovin'  for  tiiat  yet.  I  caic'late  it'll  be  some  years 
afore  I  come  to  that  pint.  Why  don't  ye  build 
a  log-hut,  and  enjoy  yerself  ?  " 

"  'Cause  I've  not  just  come  to  that  point  either," 
replied  ihe  old  man,  with  a  smile. 

Redhand  had  passed  his  best  days  many  years 
before.  His  form  was  spare,  and  his  silvery  locks 
were  thin  ;  but  his  figure  was  still  tall  and  straight 
as  a  poplar,  and  the  fire  of  youth  still  lingered 
in  his  dark  blue  eye.  The  most  striking  and 
attractive  point  about  Redhand  was  the  extreme 
kindliness  that  beamed  in  his  countenance.  A 
long  life  in  the  wildernesfs  had  wrinkled  it;  but 
'ivery  wrinkle  tended,  somehow,  to  bring  out  the 
great  characteristic  of  the  man.  Even  his  frown 
had  something  kindly  in  it.  The  prevailing  aspect 
was  that  of  calm  serenity.  Redhand  spoke  little, 
but  he  was  an  attentive  listener,  and,  all  hough  I 
he  never  laughed  loudly,  he  laughed  often  and 
heartily,  in  his  own  way,  at  the  sallies  of  his 


nonsense. 


bounce's  opinion. 


49 


rounger  comrades.  In  youth,  he  must  have  been 
a  stiiklngly  handsome  man.  Even  in  old  age  he 
was  a  strong  one. 

"  I'll  tell  ye  what's  my  opinion  now,  boys,  in 
fogard  to  scltlui'  down,"  said  Bounce,  who,  having 
filled  and  lighted  his  pipe,  now  found  himself  in  a 
position  to  state  his  views  comfortably.  "  Ye  see, 
srttlin'  down  may,  in  a  gin'ral  way,  be  said  to  be 
nonsense.  In  pint  o'  fact,  there  ain't  no  aich  a 
thing  as  seltlin'  down.  When  a  feller  sits  down, 
why,  in  a  short  bit,  he's  bound  to  rise  up  agin, 
and  when  he  goes  to  bed,  he  means  for  to  git  up 
next  mornin'."  (Here  Bounce  paused,  drew 
several  whiffs,  and  rammed  down  the  tobacco  in 
his  pipe  with  the  end  of  his  little  finger.)  "  Then, 
when  a  feller  locates  in  a  place,  he's  sure  for  to 
be  movin'  about,  ir.ore  or  less,  as  long  as  he's  got 
a  log  to  stand  on.  Now,  what  I  say  is,  that  when 
a  man  come«  to  talk  o'  settlin'  down,  he's  losin' 
heart  for  a  wa^derin'  life  among  all  the  beautiful 
things  o'  creation,  an'  when  a  man  loses  heart 
for  the  beautiful  things  o'  creation,  he'll  soon 
settle  down  for  good  and  all.  He's  in  a  bad 
way,  he  is,  and  oughtn't  to  encourage  hisself 
in  sich  feelin's.  I  b'lieve  that  to  be  the  feelo- 
sophy  o'  the  whole  affair,  and  I  don't  b'lieve 
that  nobody  o'  common  edication  —  I  don't 
mean  school  edication,  but  backwoods  edication 
—  would  go  for  to  think  otherwise.  Wot  say 
you,  Waller?" 


t 


1 

f' 

lii 

Iji 

II 

n 

f 


50 


THE  WILD  MAN   OF  THE  WEST. 


"  Sartinly  not,"  replied  the  individual  thus  ap. 
pealed  to. 

Big  Waller  had  a  deep  reverence  for  the  aup- 
posed  wisdom  of  his  friend  Bounce.  He  listened 
to  liis  lucubrations  with  earnest  attention  at  all 
time?,  and,  when  he  understood  them,  usually 
assented  to  all  his  friend  said.  When  Bounce 
became  too  profound  for  him,  as  was  not  unfre- 
quently  the  case,  he  contented  himself  with  nod- 
ding his  head,  as  though  to  say,  "  I'm  with  you 
in  heart,  lad,  though  not  quite  clear  in  my  mind ; 
but  its  all  right,  I'm  quite  sartin." 

"  Well,  then,"  resumed  Bounce,  turning  to 
Redhand,  "what  do  you  thinlt  o'  them  senti- 
ments, old  man  ?  " 

Redhand,  who  had  been  paying  no  attention 
whatever  to  these  sentiments,  but,  during. the 
delivery  of  them,  had  been  gazing  wistfully  out 
upon  the  wide  expanse  of  country  before  him, 
laid  his  hand  on  Bounce's  shoulder,  and  said,  in 
a  low  earnest  tone  — 

"  It's  a  grand  country !  D'ye  see  the  little 
clear  spot  yonder,  on  the  river  bank,  with  the 
aspen  grove  behind  it,  an'  the  run  of  prairie  on 
the  right,  an'  the  liltle  lake  not  a  gun-shot  off  on 
the  left  ?  That's  the  spot  I've  sometimes  thought 
of  locatin'  on  when  my  gun  begins  to  feel  too 
heavy.  There'll  be  cities  there  some  day.  Bricks, 
and  mortar,  and  stone,  '11  change  it's  face  —  an' 
corn-fields,  an' ,  but  not  in  our  day,  lad,  not 


SETTLINQ  DOWN. 


51 


ill  onr  clay.  The  redskins  and  the  bears  'II  .lold 
it  as  lon«^  as  we're  above  ground.  Yes,  I'd  like 
to  s(Mtle  down  there." 

"  Come,  come,  Redhand,"  said  Bounce,  "  this 
sort  o'  thing  '11  never  do.  Why,  you're  as  hale 
nnd  hearty  as  the  best  on  us.  Wot  on  'arth 
makes  you  talk  of  settlin'  down  in  that  there 
fashion  ?" 

"Ila!"  exclaimed  Waller,  energetically,  "I 
guess  if  ye  goes  on  in  that  style  ye'U  turn  into  a 
riglar  hiplecondrik  —  ain't  that  the  word.  Bounce  ? 
I  heer'd  the  minister  say  it  was  the  wust  kind 
o'  the  blues.  What's  your  opinion  o'  settling 
down,  Hawkswing  ?  " 

To  this  question  the  Ind';m  gravely  replied,  in 
his  own  language  (with  which  the  trappers  were 
well  acquainted),  that,  not  having  the  remotest 
idea  of  what  they  were  talking  about,  he  enter- 
tained no  opinion  in  regard  to  it  whatever. 

"  Well,  wotiver  others  may  hold,"  remarked 
Bounce,  emphatically,  "  I'm  strong  agin'  settlin* 
down  nowhar'." 

"  So  am  I,  oat  an'  out,"  said  Waller. 

"Dat  be  plain  to  the  naked  eye,"  observed 
Gibault,  coming  up  at  the  moment.  "  Surement 
you  have  settle  down  here  for  ever.  Do  you 
s'pose,  mes  gardens,  dat  de  canoe  will  carry  /m- 
$e}f  over  de  portage  ?    VoilX !  vat  is  dat  ?  " 

Gibault  pointed  to  the  foot-print  of  the  grisly 
bear,  as  he  spoke. 


•I 


52 


THE  WILD   MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


"  It's  a  bar,"  remarked  Bounce,  quietly. 

"  Caleb,"  added  Waller,  giving  the  name  fre- 
quently applied  to  the  grisly  bear  by  western 
hunters.  "  I  calc'late  it's  nothin'  new  to  see 
Caleb's  feet  in  the  mud." 

"  Mais,  it  be  new  to  see  hims  fut  so  big,  you 
oogly  Yankee,"  cried  Gibault,  putting  Waller's 
cap  over  his  eyes,  and  running  into  the  bush  to 
avoid  the  consequences. 

At  that  momekit  a  deer  emerged  from  the 
bushes,  about  fifty  yards  from  the  spot  on  which 
the  trappers  rested,  and,  plunging  into  the  rivf  , 
made  for  the  opposite  bank.  \, 

"  There's  our  supper,"  said  Bounce,  quietly 
lifting  his  rifle  in  a  leisurely  way,  and  taking  aim 
without  rising  from  the  spot  on  which  he  sat  or 
removing  the  pipe  from  his  lips. 

The  sharp  crack  was  followed  by  a  convulsive 
heave  on  the  part  of  the  deer,  which  fell  over  on 
its  side  and  floated  down  stream. 

Big  Waller  gave  utterance  to  a  roar  of  satis- 
faction, and,  flinging  his  pipe  from  him,  bounded 
down  the  bank  towards  a  point  of  rock,  where  he 
knew,  from  tlie  set  of  the  current,  the  deer  would 
be  certain  to  be  stranded.  Gibault,  forgetting  his 
recent  piece  of  impertinence,  darted  toward  the 
same  place,  and  both  men  reached  it  at  the  same 
instant.  Big  Waller  immediately  lifted  his  little 
friend  in  his  huge  arms,  and  tossed  him  into  the 
centre  of  a  thick  soft  bush,  out  of  which  he  scram- 


"we've  seen  Caleb!" 


53 


bled  in  time  to  see  his  comrade  catch  the  deer  by 
the  horns,  as  it  floated  past,  and  drag  it  on  shore. 

"  Hah !  I  vill  pay  you  oif  von  time,"  cried 
Gibault,  laughing,  and  shaking  his  fist  at  Waller 
Then,  seizing  the  last  bale  of  goods  that  had  not 
been  earned  across  the  portage,  he  ran  away  with 
it  nimbly  up  the  banks  of  the  stream. 

Big  Waller  placed  the  deer  on  his  shoulders 
with  some  diificulty,  and  followed  in  the  same 
direction. 

On  reaching  the  other  end  of  the  portage,  they 
found  the  canoe  reloaded  and  in  the  water,  and 
their  comrades  evincing  symptoms  of  impatience. 

"  Come  on,  lads,  come  on,"  cried  March,  who 
seemed  to  be  the  most  impatient  of  them  all. 
"  We've  seen  Caleb  !  He's  up  the  river,  on  this 
side.     Get  in  !     He's  sich  a  banger,  oh ! " 

Before  the  sentence  was  well  finished,  all  the 
men  were  in  their  places  except  Black  Gibault, 
,vho  remained  on  the  bank  to  shove  off"  the  canoe, 

"  Now  lad,  get  in,"  said  Redhand,  whose  usu- 
ally quiet  eye  appeared  to  gleam  at  the  near 
prospect  of  a  combat  with  the  fierce  and  much- 
dreaded  monster  of  the  Far  West. 

"All  right,  mes  gar^ons,"  replied  Gibault; 
"  hand  me  mine  gun  ;  I  vill  valk  on  the  bank,  an' 
see  vich  vay  hims  go,  —  so,  adieu!" 

With  a  powerful  push,  he  sent  the  light  craft 

into  the  stream,  and,  turning  on  his  heel,  entered 

the  woods. 

5* 


t! 


11 


54 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


The  others  tit  once  commenced  paddling  up 
I  he  river  with  energetic  strokes. 

"  He's  a  wild  fellar  that,"  remarked  Bounce, 
after  they  had  proceeded  some  distance  and 
reached  a  part  of  the  stream  where  the  current 
was  less  powerful.  "  Vd  bet  my  rifle  he's  git  the 
iirst  shot  at  Caleb ;  I  only  hope  he'll  not  fall  in 
with  *  him  till  we  git  ashore,  else  it  may  go  hard 
with  him." 

"  So  it  may,"  said  Waller ;  "  if  it  goes  as  hard 
wi'  Gibault'  as  it  did  wi'  my  old  comrade,  Bob 
Swan,  it'll  be  no  fun,  I  guess." 

"  What  happened  to  him  ?  "  asked  March,  who 
was  ever  open-eared  for  stories. 

"  Oh,  it  was  nothing  very  curious,  but  I  guess 
it  was  '  onconvanient,'  as  them  coons  from  Ireland 
says.  Bob  Swan  went — he  did  —  away  right  off 
alone,  all  by  hisself,  to  shoot  a  grisly  with  a  old 
musket  as  wasn't  fit  to  fire  powder,  not  to  speak 
o'  ball.  He  was  sich  a  desprit  feller,  Bob  Swan 
was,  that  he  cut  after  it  without  takin'  time  to  see 
wot  wos  in  the  gun.  I  foUered  him  as  fast  as  I 
could,  hoUerin'  for  him  to  stop  and  see  if  he  wos 
loaded ;  but  I  calc'late  he  wos  past  stoppin'. 
Wall,  he  comes  up  wi'  the  bar  suddently,  and  the 
bar  looks  at  him,  and  he  looks  at  it.  Then  he 
runs  up,  claps  the  guB  to  his  shoulder,  and  pulls 
the  trigger ;  but  it  wos  a  rusty  old  lock,  an'  no 
fire  came.  There  wos  fire  come  from  the  bar's 
eyes,  though,  I  do  guess !     It  ran  at  him,  an'  he 


BIG  WALLER'S    STORY. 


55 


ran  away.  Of  course  Caleb  soon  came  up,  an 
Bob  primed  as  he  ran  an*  wheeled  about,  stuck 
the  muzzle  of  the  old  musket  right  into  Caleb's 
mouth,  and  fired.  He  swallered  the  whole  charge, 
that  bar  did,  as  if  it  had  been  a  glass  o'  grog,  and 
didn't  he  cough  some  ?  Oh,  no  !  an'  he  roared, 
too,  jist  like  this ." 

Big  Waller,  in  the  excitement  of  his  narrative, 
was  about  to  give  a  vocal  illustration,  when 
Bounce  suddenly  extinguished  him  by  clapping 
his  hand  on  his  mouth. 

"  Hist !  you  wild  buffalo,"  he  said,  "  you'll 
frighten  off  all  the  bars  within  ten  miles  of  us,  if 
you  raise  your  horrable  trumpet !  " 

"  I  do  believe,  I  forgot,"  said  the  Yankee,  with 
a  low  chuckle,  when  his  mouth  was  released. 

"  Well,  but  what  happened  to  Bob  Swan  ? " 
inquired  March,  eagerly. 

"  Wot  happened !  I  guess  the  bar  cotched 
him  by  the  leg,  an'  smashed  it  in  three  places, 
before  you  could  wink,  but,  by  good  luck,  I  come 
up  at  that  moment,  an'  put  a  ball  right  through 
Caleb's  brains.  Bob  got  better,  but  he  never  got 
the  right  use  o'  his  leg  after  that.  An'  we  found 
that  he'd  fired  a  charge  o'  small  shot  down  that 
bar's  throat  —  he  had ! " 

"  Hallo !  look !  is  yon  Caleb  ?  "  inquired  March, 
in  a  hoarse  whisper,  as  he  pointed  with  his  pad- 
dle to  a  distant  point  up  the  river  where  a  dark 
object  was  seen  moving  on  the  bank. 


.<m. 


56 


THE   WILD  MAN   OF   THE  WEST. 


"  That's  him,"  said  Bounce.  "  Now  then,  do 
yer  best,  an'  we'll  land  on  the  point  just  below 
him." 

"  That's  sooner  said  than  done,"  remarkci. 
Redhand,  quietly,  "for  there's  another  portage 
between  us  and  Caleb." 

As  the  old  man  spoke,  the  canoe  passed  round 
a  low  point  which  had  hitherto  shut  out  the  view 
of  the  bed  of  the  river  from  the  travellers,  and  the 
vision  of  a  white,  though  not  high,  waterfall, 
burst  upon  their  sight,  at  the  same  moment  that 
the  guyhing  sound  of  water  broke  upon  their  ears. 
At  any  other  time  the  beauty  of  the  scene  wouijd 
have  drawn  forth  warm,  though,  perhaps,  quaint 
and  pithy  remarks  of  admiration.  Wood  and 
water  were  seen  picturesquely  mingled  and  diver- 
sified .in  endless  variety.  Little  islands  studded 
the  surface  of  the  river,  which  was  so  broad  and 
calm  at  that  place  as  to  wear  the  a;  pearance  of  a 
small  lake.  At  the  upper  end  of  this  lake  it  nar- 
rowed abruptly,  and  here  occurred  the  fall,  which 
glittered  in  the  sun's  bright  rays  like  a  cascade  of 
molten  silver.  The  divers  trees  and  shrubs,  both 
on  the  islets  and  on  the  mainland,  presented,  in 
some  places,  the  rich  cultivated  appearance  of  the 
plantations  on  a  well-tended  domain ;  but  in 
other  places,  the  fallen  timber,  the  rank  tangled 
vegetation,  and  the  beautiful  wild  flowers,  showed 
that  man's  hand  had  not  yet  destroyed  the  wild 
beauty  of  the  vii'gin  wilderness.     The  sky  above 


DESCRIPTION   OF   THE   SCENERY. 


57 


was  bright  and  blue,  with  a  few  thin  feathery 
clouds  resting  motionless  upon  its  vast  concave, 
and  the  air  was  so  still  that  even  the  tremulous 
aspen  leaves  were  but  slightly  agitated,  while  the 
rest  of  the  forest's  drapery  hung  perfectly  motion- 
less. 

Complete  silence  would  have  reigned  but  for 
the  mellow  sound  of  the  distant  fall  and  the.sweet 
plaintive  cries  of  innumerable  wild  fowl  that  flew 
hither  and  thither,  or  revelled  in  the  security  of 
their  sedgy  homes.  Flocks  of  wild  geese  passed 
in  constant  succession  overhead,  in  the  form  of 
acute  angles,  giving  a  few  trumpet  notes  now  and 
then,  as  if  to  advertise  their  passage  to  the  far 
north  to  the  dwellers  in  the  world  below.  Bustling 
teal  rose  in  groups  of  dozens  or  half-dozens  as  the 
red  canoe  broke  upon  their  astonished  gaz§y  and 
sent  them,  with  whistling  wings,  up  or  dow^n'fbe 
river.  A  solitary  northern  diver  put  up  his  long 
neck  here  and  there  to  gaze  for  an  instant  inquis' 
itively,  and  then  sank,  as  if  forever,  into  the 
calm  water,  to  reappear  long  after  in  some  totally 
new  and  unexpected  quarter.  A  napping  duck  or 
two,  being  wellnigh  run  over  by  the  canoe,  took 
wing  with  a  tremendous  splutter  and  a  perfectly 
idioical  compound  of  a  quack  and  a  roar,  while 
numerous  flocks  of  plover,  which  had  evidently 
meant  to  lie  still  among  the  sedges  and  hide  while 
the  canoe  passed,  sprang  into  the  air  at  the  un- 
wonted hullabaloo,  and  made  off,  with  diverse 


V 


58 


THE  WILD  MAN   OF  THE  WEST. 


shriek  and  whistle,  as  fast  as  their  wings  could 
carry  them.  Besides  these  noisy  denizens  of  the 
wilderness,  there  were  seen,  in  various  places, 
cranes,  and  crows,  and  magpies,  and  black  terns, 
and  turkey-buzzards,  all  of  which  were  mor(3  or 
less  garrulous  in  expressing  surprise  at  the  unex- 
pected appearance  of  the  trappers  in  their  wild 
domain.  And,  just  as  the  caaoe  drew  near  to 
the  place  at  the  foot  of  the  fall,  where  they 
meant  to  land  rnd  make  the  portage,  a  little 
cabri,  or  prong-horned  antelope,  leaped  out  of 
the  woods,  intending,  doubtless,  to  drink,  caught 
sight  of  the  intruders,  gave  one  short  glance,  of 
unutterable  amazement,  and  then  rebounded  into 
the  bush  like  an  electrified  india-rubber  ball. 

"  Now,  then,"  said  Bounce,  as  he  leaped  ashore, 
and  held  the  canoe  steady  while  his  comrades 
landed,  "jist  be  cool,  an'  no  hurry;  make  the 
portage,  launch  the  canoe  atop  o'  the  fall,  sot  off 
agin,  an'  then  —  hurrah  for  that  there  grisly 
bar!" 


gibault's  pursuit  of  a  grisly  bear.     59 


CHAPTER   IV. 


Gribault  has  an  Adventure,  and  discovers  a  very  strange  Creature  in 
the  Woods.  —  A  most  tremendous  Bear-hunt  particularly  dp- 
scribed. 

Meanwhile,  Black  Gibault,  having  followed 
the  course  of  the  river  for  some  distance  on  foot, 
struck  into  the  woods,  sought  for  and  found  the 
track  of  the  bear,  and,  looking  carefully  to  the 
priming  of  his  gun,  and  knocking  the  edge  of  the 
flint  to  sharpen  it,  pushed  forward  in  pursuit 
with  the  ardor  of  a  reckless  man. 

Gibault  Noir  was  a  goose !  But  he  was  an 
amiable  goose ;  therefore  men  forgave  his  follies. 
Had  Gibault  not  been  a  goose  he  never  would 
have  set  otF  alone  in  pursuit  of  a  grisly  bear 
when  he  had  comrades  who  might  have  accom- 
panied him.  Every  one  knows  —  at  least,  if 
every  one  does  not  know,  every  one  who  reads 
these  pages  may  know  henceforth  —  that  the 
grisly  bear  of  the  western  prairies  and  Rocky 
Mountains  is  one  of  the  most  desperate  mon- 
sters and  most  dreaded  animals  on  the  face  of 
the  earth ;  not  dreaded  merely  by  the  weak  and 
timorous,  but  dreaded  also  by  the  bravest  Indi- 
ans and  the  boldest  trappers.  Of  course  we  do 
not  mean  to  say  that  by  these  latter  the  grisly 


60 


THE   WILD  MAN   OF   THE   WEST. 


bear  is  dreaded  with  any  thing  like  cowardly 
terror;  but  it  is  regarded  with  that  degree  of 
wholesome  anxiety  and  extreme  caution  with 
which  men  usually  regard  an  excessively  danger- 
ous  and  powerful  enemy. 

Unlike  other  bears,  the  grisly  bear  scorns  to  fly 
from  before  the  face  of  man.  His  ferocity,  when 
wounded,  is  terrible,  and  his  tenacity  of  life  is 
such,  that,  however  many  mv  rtal  wounds  one 
may  give  him,  he  will  retain  life  and  strength 
long  enough  to  kill  his  assailant  before  he  him- 
self  dies,  unle,  he  is  shot  dead  at  once  by  a  ball 
being  planted  in  his  heart  or  brain,  both  of  which 
are  difficult  to  reach. 

He  has  a  grumpy  sort  of  magnanimity  of  his 
own,  however,  and  will  usually  let  men  alone  if 
men  will  let  him  alone.  But  men  are  not  prone 
to  let  any  thing  alone  :  hence  encounters  are  fre- 
quent; wounds,  on  both  sides,  are  numerous; 
and  death,  on  one  or  other  side,  is  almost  certain. 

Old  trappers  are  not  fond  of  attacking  Caleb 
single-handed,  but   young   hot-blooded   fellows, 
who  have  got  their  names  to  make,  are  less  cau- 1 
tious,  and  sometimes  even  court  the  combat,  as 
was  the  case  in  the  present  instance  with  reckless  | 
Gibault  Noir. 

For   half    an   hour,    Gibault  went   over    the  I 
ground  at  a  sort  of  half-walk,  half-trot,  stopping 
occasionally  to  examine  the  prints  of  the  bear 
more  narrowly  when   they  passed   across   hard! 


GIBAULT  LOSES   TRACK   OF  THE   BEAR 


61 


mound  that  did  not  take  a  good  impression.  At 
leiiqth  he  came  to  a  deep  gully  or  creek  where 
the  bushes  were  so  dense  that  he  could  not  see 
far  through  them  in  any  direction.  Here  he 
halted,  reexamined  his  priming,  and,  peering  cau- 
tiously through  the  underwood,  advanced  with 
much  greater  deliberation  and  care  than  hereto- 
fore. 

Ill  descending  the  gully,  Gibault  stumbled 
I  once  or  twice,  and  made  one  or  two  crashing 
[bursts  through  bushes  that  would  have  proved 
quite  impervious  to  most  men.  After  much  toil, 
he  reached  the  bottom,  and,  standing  there,  up  to 
(the  ankles  in  a  small  rivulet,  gazed  upward  at  the 
Ibank  he  had  now  to  ascend. 

"  Vraiment,  it  be  uncommonly  difficile,"  said 
Jie,  addressing  himself  to  the  task,  while  the  per- 
spiration began  to  roll  down  his  forehead. 

At  last  he  reached  the  top  of  the  bank  on  the 
)ther  side,  and,  after  panting  for  some  time,  be- 
jan  to  look  for  the  bear's  footprints ;  but  these 
jould  not  now  be  found.  In  his  scramble 
[hrough  the  gully  he  had  lost  them,  and  the 
rround  on  the  side  he  had  just  reached  was  so 
lard  and  rocky  that  it  seemed  to  him  doubtful 
hether  it  was  capable  of  receiving  any  visible 
iipression  from  a  bear's  paw.  It  was  just  pos- 
iole,  too,  that  the  animal  had  found  the  descent 

[t  the  gully  as  difficult  as  he  himself  had ;   in 

6 


02 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF   TUB  WEST. 


which  case   'A  was  highly  probable  that  it  had 
used  the  course  of  the  rivulrr;  as  a  pathway. 

For  a  moment,  tlie  little  Canadian  meditated  a 
second  desce'it  into  the  gully  for  the  purpose  of 
settling  this  point,  but,  having  not  yet  quite 
ceased  to  pant  from  his  recent  exertions,  he 
thoupht  better  of  it,  and  determined  to  make  a 
further  examination  of  the  ground  where  he  was. 
After  doing  so  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  his 
exerlions  were  rewarded  by  the  discovery  of  what 
appeared  to  be  a  track.  It  w'df=t  not  very  distinct, 
but  it  was  SLifficiently  so  to  induce  him  to  follow 
it  up  with  renewed  ardor.  ^ 

Presently  he  came  upon  a  spot  where  the 
ground  was  not  so  thickly  covered  with  under- 
wood, and  where,  in  some  places,  it  was  so  soft  as 
to  show  an  exact  print  of  the  foot  of  the  animal 
he  was  following  up.  Here  he  received  a  great 
disappointment,  and  an  equally  great  surprise  !  — 
a  disappointment  on  finding  that  the  track  he 
followed  was  not  that  of  a  bear,  and  a  surprise  on 
discovering  that  it  was  that  of  a  man. 

On  first  making  this  discovery,  Gibault  stopped 
short,  laid  his  gun  on  the  ground,  stooped  down, 
planted  a  hand  on  each  knee,  opened  his  eyes  to  I 
their  utmost,  pursed  his  lips  to  the  tightest,  and 
stared  at  the  footprint,  the  very  embodiment  of 
astonishment.  After  a  few  seconds  he  gave  vent 
to  a  low  whistle,  and  said  "  Ho  !  "  Exactly  ten 
seconds  after  that,  he  said  "Ha!"  and,  raising 


QIBAULT  MEETS   A   STRANGER. 


63 


his  right  hand,  scratched  the  point  of  his  nose, 
which,  being  too  red  naturally,  was  not  improved 
by  the  operation. 

None  of  these  acts  and  exclamations,  either 
collectively  or  singly,  seemed  to  afford  him  any 
enlif^htenment,  for  he  beg&n  to  shake  his  head 
slowly  from  side  to  side,  as  if  he  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  whole  atFair  was  utterly  be- 
yond his  limited  comprehension ;  then  he  started 
up,  shouldered  his  gun,  and  followed  the  track 
of  the  man  with  as  much  ardor  as  he  had  for- 
merly pursued  that  of  the  bear. 

Perseverance  is  almost  invariably  rewarded. 
This  would  seem  to  be  one  of  those  laws  of  na- 
|tnre  which  fail  to  operate  only  on  very  rare  and 
I  peculiar  occasions.  Gibault  had  not  advanced 
more  than  a  hundred  yards  when  he  came  sud- 
denly upon  the  man  whose  feet  had  made  the 
[tracks  he  had  been  following. 

"  The  Vild-Man-ov-de- Vest !  certainement ! " 
[muttered  Black  Gibault,  slowly,  as  he  gazed  at 
|the  creature  before  him,  and  quietly  cocked  hi) 
rifle  to  be  ready  for  any  emergency. 

Certainly  the  man  upon  whom  our  trapper  had 
stumbled  thus  suddenly  might  have  been  styled 
the  w  "  i  man  of  any  region  —  west,  north,  east,  O) 
poutli,'  -with  perfect  propriety.    On  his  legs  were 

pa.  of  dark  gray  fustian  trousers,  which  had 
(een  so  much  service  that,  from  the  knee  down- 
wards, they  were  torn  into  shreds.    His  feet  were 


:1 


64 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


*•. 


covered  by  a  pair  of  moccasins.  Instead  of  tlie 
usual  hunting-shirt  he  wore  one  of  the  yellow 
deer-skin  coats  of  a  Blackfoot  chief,  which  was 
richly  embroidered  with  beads  and  quilt- work, 
and  fringed  with  scalp-locl^s.  On  his  head  he 
wore  a  felt  liat,  with  a  broad  brim  and  a  tall 
conical  crown,  somewhat  resembling  a  Spanish 
sombrero,  and  beside  him,  on  the  bough  of  a  treo, 
hung  a  long  blue  Spanish  cloak.  The  counte- 
nance of  this  extraordinary  man  was  handsome 
and  youthfid,  but  wild  and  bomewhat  haggard,  as 
if  from  much  recent  suflering.  His  eye  was  black 
and  piercing,  his  nos*^  aquiline,  and  his  forehead 
broad,  but  his  mouth  was  effeminate,  his  chin 
small  and  beardless,  his  neck  long,  his  shoulders 
narrow  and  sloping,  and  his  black  hair  hung  in 
long  straight  locks  over  his  shoulders.  A  short 
sword,  somewhat  resembling  that  of  the  ancient 
Roman,  lay  on  the  sward  beside  him,  and  near  to 
it  a  huge  cavalry  pistol  of  the  olden  time,  with  a 
brass  barrel  and  a  bell  mouth — a  species  of  minia- 
ture blunderbuss.  Its  fellow  was  stuck  in  his 
belt,  beneath  the  chiefs  coat,  as  could  be  observed 
from  the  appearance  of  the  butt  protruding  from 
the  opening  in  the  breast  thereof. 

This  personage  was  seated  on  a  grassy  knoll  so 
absorbed  in  some  curious  kind  of  occupation  that 
he  was  totally  unobservant  of  the  presence  of 
Gibault  until  he  had  approached  to  within 
thirty  yards  of  him.     Although  his  occupation 


DEFENSIVE  ATTITUDE  OF  THE  STRANGER.      65 

was  a,  mystery  to  the  trapper,  to  one  a  little  mi»re 
conversant  with  the  usages  of  civilized  life,  the 
open  book  on  the  knee,  the  easy  flow  of  the  pencil, 
and  the  occasional  use  of  a  piece  of  india-rubber, 
would  have  been  sufficient  evidence  that  the 
young  man  was  sketching  the  view  before  him. 

"  Ahem  ! "  coughed  Gibault. 

The  stranger  scattered  book,  pencil,  and  india- 
rubber  to  the  winds  (or  to  the  atmosphere,  for 
tliere  happened  to  be  no  wind  at  the  time),  and 
started  up.  In  doing  so,  he  showed  that  he  was 
at  least  a  tall,  if  not  a  stout  fellow.  Seizing  a 
pistol  with  one  hand  and  his  sword  with  the 
other,  he  presented  both  at  Gibault,  and  yelled, 
rather  than  shouted,  "  Stay !  halt !  stop  now,  my 
man:  drop  the  bult  of  your  gun,  else  I'll —  I'll 
blow  out  your  brains." 

Although  somewhat  startled  by  this  unusual 
mode  of  salutation,  the  trapper  had  sense  and 
quickness  enough  to  perceive  that  the  artist  was 
in  any  thing  but  a  warlike  state  of  mind,  and  that 
his  violent  demonstration  was  tfie  result  of  having 
been  startled ;  so,  pulling  oft'  his  cap  with  that 
native  politeness  which  is  one  of  the  character- 
istics of  the  French  Canadian,  he  advanced,  and 
said, — 

"  Bon  jour,  monsieur.  I  ver'  moch  sorray  dat 
Ibe  give  you  von  fri^t.  Pardon,  sair;  how 
you  do  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  —  thank  you,  good  fellow,"  —  re- 

6* 


■i, 


IH 

m 

1 

^sKKm  - 

laws 

*'U          ■■ 

m    if 

Ma 

66 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


plied  the  artist,  laying  down  his  weapons,  and 
grasping  Gibault's  proffered  hand  with  a  sigh  of 
evident  relief,  "  I  am  well,  excellently  well.  You 
did,  indeed,  startle  me  by  your  sudden  appear- 
ance ;  but  no  harm  is  done,  and  where  none  was 
intended  no  apology  is  necessary.  You  are  a 
Frenchman,  I  think  ?  " 

"  Non,  sair ;  not  'xactly.  I  be  French  Cana- 
dian. Mine  fadder  was  be  von  Canadian ;  mine 
moder  was  a  Frenchvoman ;  I  be  leetle  of  both." 

"  And  you  have  cause  to  be  proud  of  your 
country,  my  man,"  returned  the  artist,  collecting 
his  scattered  drawing  materials  and  quietly  sitting 
down  to  continue  his  sketch,  "  a  splendid  coun- 
try, and  a  noble  people.  Sit  down,  my  good 
friend,  if  you  can  spare  time,  while  I  put  a  few 
finisriing  touches  to  this  sketch." 

"  Mais,"  said  Gibault,  rubbing  his  nose  in 
great  perplexity  at  the  coolness  of  this  eccentric 
wanderer;  "Mais,  monsieur,  I  hab  not  time;  I 
be  follerin'  de  tracks  of  von  monstracious  grisly 
bar "  • 

"  What!  a  grisly  bear?  "  cried  the  artist,  look- 
ing up  with  sudden  animation. 

"  Oui,  monsieur.  We  have  see  him  upt  long 
'go,  an'  hopes  to  kill  him  soon." 

The  artist's  dark  eye  sparkled  with  animation 
ds  he  hastily  shut  up  1ms  sketch-book  and  thrust 
it,  with  his  drawing  materials,  into  a  sma'l  pocket 
iMside  the  breast  of  his  coat. 


CONVERSATION  ABOUT  THE  BEAR. 


67 


"  A  grisly  bear ! "  he  repeated.  "  Ha !  lead  on, 
good  fellow,  I  wiU  follow." 

Thus  urged,  Gibault,  without  further  loss  of 
time,  led  the  way  to  the  banks  of  the  river,  fol- 
lowed closely  by  his  new  friend,  who  stalked 
behind  him  with  long  ostrich-like  strides.  The 
semi -theatrical  air  of  the  artist  made  a  deep  im- 
pression on  the  trapper.  Had  Gibault  known 
what  a  theatrical  air  was,  he  might  have  been 
immensely  tickled;  but,  being  what  he  was, — 
an  unsophisticated  son  of  the  wilderness,  —  he 
knew  nothing  about  such  airs,  and  therefore  re- 
garded his  companion  in  the  light  of  a  superior 
order  of  being,  or  a  madman ;  he  was  not  quite 
sure  which. 

In  a  few  minutes,  they  emerged  from  the 
bushes  and  came  out  upon  the  bank  of  the  river, 
which,  at  that  part,  was  high  and  precipitous, 
with  few  trees,  but  a  considerable  quantity  of 
underwood  on  the  slopes, 

"  Are.  you  sure,  friend,  ihat  a  bear  has  been 
seen  by  you  ?  "  inquired  the  artist. 

"  Oui ;  most  positavly  sure,  sair.  Ha !  an' 
here  be  him's  fut  encore.  I  have  lose  him  in  de 
vood.     Now,  monsieur,  have  your  pistol  ready." 

"  Lead  on,"  returned  the  artist.  "  I  have 
longed  much  for  this  day.  To  shoot  an  indi- 
vidual of  this  ferocious  class  has  been  my  am- 
bition  .     Ho!    friend,   look   here.      Yonder 

object  seems  like  a  canoe.     Whence  comes  it. 


,  .lit 


i 


I 
I 


68 


THE  WILD   MAN   OF  THE  WEST. 


think  you  ?    This  regior,  I  know,  is  not  very  safe. 
There  are  Indians  who  do  not  love  the  whites 


in 


)> 


"  No  fear,  monsieur,"  interrupted  Gibault,  "Dat 
De  mine  comerades  —  good  mans  an'  true  every 
von.     Dey  come  to  land  here,  I  see." 

A  low  growl  in  the  bushes,  a  little  distance 
ahead  of  them,  put  an  abrupt  termination  to  the 
conversation.  Gibault  threw  forward  the  muzzle 
of  his  gun,  and  glanced  at  his  comrade.  The 
glance  did  not  tend  to  comfort  him.  The  artist 
was  pale  as  death.  This,  and  an  occasional  twitch 
of  the  lip,  were  clear  and  unmistakable  signs  tq 
the  backwoodsman  that  fear  had  taken  possession 
of  his  friend,  and  that  he  was  not  to  be  counted 
on  in  the  moment  of  danger.  Yet  there  was  a 
stern  knitting  of  the  eyebrows,  and  a  firm  pres- 
sure of  the  lips,  that  seemed  to  indicate  better 
qualities,  and  perplexed  him  not  a  little. 

"  P'rhaps,  monsieur,"  suggested  Gibault,  hesi- 
tatingly, "  you  had  better  'vait  for  de  canoe." 

"  Lead  on ! "  said  the  artist,  cocking  both  pis- 
tols and  pointing  with  one  of  them  to  the  place 
whence  the  growl  had  issued. 

Gibault  elevated  his  eyebrows,  shrugged  his 
shoulders  characteristically,  and,  uttering  vhe  sin- 
gle word  "  bien !  "  walked  quickly  forward. 

A  few  steps  brought  him  to  an  open  space,  in 
the  midst  of  which  the  grisly  bear  was  discovered. 
It  was  seated  on  its  haunches,  looking  sulkily 


VAIN  ATTEMPT   TO   KILL   THE  BEAR. 


69 


about,  as  if  it  had  a  suspicion  that  enemies  were 
tracking  it.  Creeping  with  the  utmost  caution 
on  his  hands  and  knees,  Gibault  got  to  within 
forty  yards  of  the  monster,  whose  aspect  at  that 
moment  was  enough  to  try  the  courage  of  most 
men.  There  was  a  wicked  glare  in  his  little  eye, 
as  he  swayed  his  huge  body  from  side  to  side,  that 
indicated  but  too  clearly  the  savage  nature  of  his 
disposition.  Even  Gibault  felt  a  little  uneasy, 
and  began  to  think  himself  a^fool  for  having  ven- 
tured on  such  an  expedition  alone.  His  state  of 
mind  was  not  improved  by  the  sound  of  the 
artist's  teeth  chattering  in  his  head  like  cas- 
tanets. 

Taking  a  very  long  and  deliberate  aim  at  the 
bear's  heart,  he  pulled  the  trigger,  but  the  faith- 
less lock  of  his  old  flint-gun  missed  fire.  Without 
a  sign  of  annoyance  or  agitation,  the  trapper  re- 
cocked  the  gun,  again  pulled  the  trigger,  and 
with  the  same  result.  Three  times  this  occurred, 
and  at  each  click  of  the  lock  the  bear  cocked  his 
ears  inquiringly.  The  third  time,  he  rose  and 
sauntered  slowly  towards  the  spot  where  the  men 
lay  concealed. 

"  Stay,"  whispered  the  artist,  as  Gibault  was 
once  more  about  to  try  his  piece,  after  rubbing 
the  edge  of  his  flint  with  his  thumb-nail, — "stay, 
I  will  fire." 

So  saying,  he  suddenly  pointed  a  pistol  straight 
at  the  advancing  monstc'  and  flred.     A  tremen- 


70 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


dous  roar  followed  the  leport.  Gibault  leaped 
up,  exclaiming  angrily,  "  Vat  foolishness !  a  pis- 
tol !  hah !  ve  must  run."  He  turned  at  once  to 
do  so. 

"  Stay ! "  cried  the  artist,  who  no  longer  trem- 
bled, though  his  countenance  was  still  ashy 
pale,  "  I  have  another  pistol." 

"  Does  you  vish  to  die  ?  "  yelled  the  trapper, 
seizing  his  comrade  by  the  collar. 

Whether  it  was  the  yell  of  the  man,  or  the 
reiterated  roar  of  the  advancing  bear,  or  both 
combined,  that  had  an  efiect  on  the  artist,  we 
cannot  tell,  but  certain  it  is  that  he  sprang  uji 
and  darted  after  Gibault  with  astonishing  rapid- 
ity. Being  long-legged  and  uncommonly  supple 
he  soon  passed  him  ;  but,  fast  though  they  both 
ran,  the  bear  ran  faster,  and,  having  been  badly 
cut  up  about  the  face  by  the  slugs  with  which 
the  pistol  had  been  $;harged,  his  spirit  was  roused 
to  the  utmost  pitch  of  ferocity. 

Now,  while  this  was  going  on  in  the  bush,  the 
other  trappers  were  quietly  fastening  the  line  of 
their  canoe  to  a  shrub  that  held  it  floating  in  a 
pool  of  still  water  near  the  shore.  No  sooner 
did  the  pistol  shot  ring  upon  their  ears  than 
every  man  seized  his  gun,  hastily  examined  the 
priming,  and  scrambled  up  the  bank,  which,  at 
that  spot,  was  very  steep,, 

Having  gained  the  top,  they  paused  for  one 
instant  to  gaze  intontly  at  the  bank  of  the  river 


RUNNING   FOR   LIFE. 


71 


above  them,  in  order  to  ascertain  the  exact  spot 
to  which  they  ought  to  hurry. 

"  I  see  no  smoke,"  said  March  Marston,  in  a 
tone  of  deep  anxiety. 

"  Gibault's  gun  did'nt  use  for  to  bark  in  that 
sort  o'  voice,"  observed  Bounce. 

"  I  do  b'lieve  that  bar's  got  'im,"  cried  Big 
Waller,  bounding  forward. 

He  had  not  taken  a  second  bound  when  the 
artist,  flying  at  full  speed  about  three  hundred 
yards  up  the  river,  burst  upon  the  astonished 
vision  of  the  party.  His  sombrero  had  blown  off, 
his  long  hair  streamed  straight  behind  him,  so 
did  the  scalp  locks  on  his  coat,  and  so  did  his 
long  cloak  which  was  fastened  to  his  neck  by  a 
clasp,  and  which,  in  his  present  panting  and  rush- 
ing condition,  wellnigh  strangled  him. 

Before  the  wondei-ctricken  trappers  had  time 
to  remark  on  this  singular  apparition,  or  to  form 
any  opinion  in  regard  to  it,  poor  Gibault  came 
tearing  round  the  point  like  a  maniac,  with  the 
bear  close  upon  his  heels.  This  was  enough. 
The  backwoodsmen  no  longer  showed  any  signs 
of  surprise  or  hesitancy.  A  grisly  bear  was  a  fa- 
miliar object  —  a  comrade  in  imminent  danger 
was  equally  so.  They  sprang  forward  to  meet 
the  fugitives. 

By  this  time  the  cloak  had  so  retarded  and 
strangled  the  poor  artist,  that  he  had  fallen  a  pace 
or  tu'o  behind   Gibault,  and  it  seenDcd  almost 


■3& 


,;*;| 


IT  ■  5vl 


i! 


I 


1*5"   ! 


72 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


'-\ 


certain  that  he  would  fall  a  victim  to  the  furioug 
bear  before  the  trappers  could  kill  it,  for  they 
could  not  venture  to  fire  at  it  while  the  fugitives 
almost  screened  it  from  their  view.  As  they 
drew  near  to  each  other  the  trappers  almost  in- 
stinctively divided  into  two  parties.  Redland 
and  Hawksvving  went  a  little  to  the  right; 
Bounce,  Waller,  and  our  hero  diverged  to  the 
left,  so  as  to  let  the  flying  men  pass  between 
them,  and  thus  attack  the  bear  on  both  sides  at 
once. 

Gibault  attempted  to  cheer  as  he  darted 
through  the  friendly  line,  but  he  could  only  giv0 
forth  a  gasp.  At  that  moment  an  unexpected 
incident  contributed  to  the  deliverance  of  the 
artist.  The  bear  was  within  a  yard  of  him  as  he 
came  up;  just  then  the  clasp  of  his  cloak  gave 
way,  and  the  huge  garment  instantly  enveloped 
the  head  of  the  bear  and  a  considerable  portion 
of  its  body.  It  tripped,  rolled  over,  and,  in  at- 
tempting to  free  itself,  tore  the  cloak  to  shreds. 

At  the  same  instant  a  volley  was  fired  by  the 
trappers,  and  three  balls  pierced  its  body.  Nop'^ 
of  them,  however,  seemed  to  have  hit  a  mortal 
part,  for  the  infuriated  animal  instantly  rose  and 
glared  from  side  to  side  in  disappointed  malice, 
while  the  trappers  who  har"  fired  were  reloading, 
each  behind  a  bush,  with  perfect  coolness,  but 
with  the  utmost  celerity. 

While  the  bear  was  on  the  ground,  the  fugi- 


w 


Tai;  ABTISTS  NARROW  ESCAPE  FROM  THE  BEAR. 


Page  7'2 


# 


tives  h 

place  c 

and  B< 

the  wii 

made  i 

stantly 

at  once 

but,  bei 

another 

side.     [ 

other  ti 

made  u 

was  fin 

and  Be 

first. 

The 
awful  t< 
there  co 
pers  we] 
to  fire,  b 
ing  the 
bear's  si 
wounds, 
from  its 
Befort 
furious 
away  to 
and  Mar( 
ing  com 
their  gun 


TUB  BEAR  MORTALLY  WOUNDED. 


73 


tives  had  each  sprung  into  the  bush,  and  found  a 
place  of  concealment.  Redhand  on  the  one  side, 
and  Bounce  on  the  other,  had  reserved  their  fire ; 
the  wisdom  of  this  was  now  shown.  The  bear 
made  a  rush  at  the  bushes  on  one  side,  and  in- 
stantly received  a  shot  from  the  other.  It  turned 
at  once  to  rush  on  the  concealed  enemy  there, 
but,  before  it  had  made  a  stride  in  that  direction, 
another  ball  was  lodged  in  it  from  the  opposite 
side.  The  vacillations  thus  produced  gave  the 
other  trappers  time  to  reload,  and,  before  it  had 
made  up  its  mind  which  to  attack,  another  vollty 
was  fired,  and  three  balls  took  effect,  Redhard 
and  Bounce  ptill  reserving  their  fire  as  at  ti../ 
first. 

The  impotent  fury  of  the  creature  was  now 
awful  to  behold.  It  was  mortally  wounded; 
there  could  be  no  doubt  as  to  that,  for  the  trap- 
pers were  all  pretty  good  shots  and  knew  where 
to  fire,  but  they  had  not  succeeded  yet  in  reach- 
ing the  seat  of  life.  One  ball  had  broken  the 
bear's  shoulder  and  the  blood  flowed  from  its 
wounds,  while  churned  blood  and  foam  dropped 
from  its  jaws. 

Before  another  volley  could  be  fired  it  made  a 
furious  rush  at  the  three  men  who  had  kept 
away  to  the  left,  namely.  Big  Waller,  Bounce, 
and  March.  There  was  no  help  for  it ;  not  hav- 
ing completed  then:  loading,  they  had  to  drop 

their  guns  aul  run.     We  have  already  said  that 

7 


1/  ■  I  ^ , 


74 


TUE  WILD   MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


these  three  had  diverged  towards  the  river.     Ij 
now  proved  to  be  unfortunate  that  they  had  done 
so,  for  the  bank  at  that  place  jutted  out  into  Ihe 
stream  in  such  a  way  that  it  was  impossible  for 
them  to  avoid  leaping  into  the  river.     The  bank 
overhung  ihe  stream  and  was  fully  twenty  feet 
high.    Big  Waller,  who  reached  it  first,  hesitated 
to  take  the  leap.    Bounce,  who  came  next,  rushed 
violently  against  him,  and  the  two  went  over 
together,  fell  into  the  water  with  a  tremendous 
splash,  and  sank.     March  came  up  at  the  instant 
after,  and  sprang  far  out  at  once  with  a  bold  un- 
hesitating spring.     The  bear  was  so  close  upon 
the  youth  that  for  one  moment  they  were  both  in 
the  air  at  the  same  time,  but  the  former  had  not 
gone  off  with  a  spring,  he  merely  tumbled  over, 
half  involuntarily,  so  that  when  they  struck  the 
water  there  was  at  least  a  yard  between  them. 
But  this  was  not  a  long  space.     The  superior 
swimming  powers   of   the  bear  over  the   man 
would  have  diminished  the  distance  to  nothing 
in  a  minute  or  so.    Even  as  it  was,  the  bear  was 
within  six  inches  of  Marston's  heels  when  Hawks- 
wing  and  Redhand  gained  the  edge  of  the  bank. 
Redhand  was  armed  with  a  rifle  —  an  old  and 
trusty  weapon  that  had  been  the  means  of  saving 
his  own  life  and  the  lives  of  comrades  in  manv  a 
doubtful  encounter  with  beast  and  with  man. 
Kneeling  down,  he  took  a  rapid  aim  and  fired. 
The  bullet  sped  true.    It  entered  the  back  of  the 


bear's  he 
the  strea 
the  effect 
ming  toM 
and  drag^ 
toward  th 
Meanw 
his  hiding 
siucessful 
shout  in  t 
are  apt  to 
gant  actio 
was  on  ihi 
concugsior 
after  the  pi 
pirouette  b 
was  precif 
yard  or  s( 
were  enga^ 

A  loud 

peeled  des( 

hold  of  the 

Hah !  m 

down  for  t< 

bear!    Pull 

The  beai 

and  stretch 

some  time 

turesque  gr 

appearance, 

cidents  of  t 


GIBAULrS  MISFORTUNE. 


75 


bear's  head,  and  the  lifeless  carcase  floated  down 
tlic  stream.  The  three  men,  instantly  observing 
tlie  effect  of  the  shol,  turned  round,  and,  swim- 
ming towards  their  late  enemy,  laid  hold  of  him, 
and  dragged  and  pushed  him  with  some  difficulty 
toward  the  shore. 

Meanwhile  Black  Gibault,  who  had  issued  from 
his  hiding-place  and  had  witnessed  Redhand's 
successful  shot,  began  to  caper  and  dance  and 
shout  in  the  exuberance  of  his  glee.  Most  men 
are  apt  to  suffer  when  they  give  way  to  extrava- 
gant action  of  any  kind.  Gibault  forgot  that  he 
was  on  the  edge  of  an  overhanging  bank.  The 
concussion  with  which  he  came  to  the  ground 
after  the  performance  of  a  peculiarly  complicated 
pirouette  broke  off  the  edge  of  the  bank,  and  he 
was  precipitated  headlong  into  the  river,  just  a 
yard  or  so  from  the  spot  where  his  conirades 
were  engaged  in  landing  the  bear. 

A  loud  laugh  greeted  his  sudden  and  unex- 
pecled  descent.  Scrambling  on  shore,  and  laying 
hold  of  the  bear's  tail,  he  exclaimed  — 

Hah  !  mes  gar^ons,  heave  away.  I  have  come 
down  for  to  give  you  leetle  help.  Splenderous 
bear !    Pull  avay !  '* 

The  bear  was  then  dragged  out  of  the  water 
and  stretched  upon  the  green  sward,  where  for 
some  time  the  trappers  stood  round  it  in  a  pic- 
turesque group,  commenting  upon  its  size  and 
appearance,  and  remarking  upon  the  various  in« 
cidents  of  the  chase. 


:J 


ifi 


4  .: 
1  ■!. 


i  \ 

P   I 


ill 


76 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


As  the  exact  dimensions  of  this  particular  beai 
were  taken  and  noted  down  on  the  spot,  we  will 
give  tht'in  here  for  the  benefit  of  inquiring  minds. 
It  weighed,  as  nearly  as  could  be  guessed  by 
men  wiio  were  practised  in  estimating  weights, 
600  pounds.  On  its  hind  legs  it  stood  8  fett  7 
inches.  Round  the  chest  it  measured  5  feet  10 
inclics;  round  the  neck  3  feet  11  inches.  Tiie 
circumference  of  the  thickest  part  of  the  fore  leg 
was  2  feet,  and  the  length  of  each  of  its  claws 
was  4i  inches.  It  was  whity -brown  in  color,  and 
a  shaggier,  fiercer,  uglier  monster  could  not  well 
be  imagined. 

"  But,  I  say,"  cried  Bounce,  looking  round 
suddenly,  "  wot's  come  o'  yon  ^xtraor'nary  feller 
as " 

Bounce  paused  abruptly,  for  at  that  moment 
his  eye  fell  on  the  "  'xtraor'nary  feller  '■  in  ques- 
tion. He  was  seated  quietly  on  a  large  stone, 
not  many  yards  distant,  with  book  on  knee  and 
pencil  in  hand,  making  a  rapid  sketch  of  the 
party  and  the  surrounding  scene ! 

"  Wot  is  he  ?  "  inquired  Bounce  of  Gibault,  in 
a  whisper. 

"  I  calc'late,"  observed  Waller,  in  a  low  voice, 
at  the  same  time  touching  his  forehead  and  look- 
ing mysterious ;  "  I  calc'late,  he's  noncombobble- 
fusticated." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Redhand,  with  a  quiet  laugh. 

"Whatever  he  is,  it's  bad  manners  to  stand 


HOSPITALITY   EXTENDED   TO   THE   AllTIST.       77 

stiirin'  at  him,"  said  Redhand,  "  so  you'd  better 
go  and  pick  up  yer  guns  and  things,  wliile 
Bounce  and  I  skin  this  feller  and  cut  off  his 
claws." 

The  party  separated  at  once,  and  the  artist, 
who  seemed  a  little  disappointed  ot  being  thu8 
checked  in  his  work,  no  sooner  observed  the 
flaying  process  begin  than  he  turned  over  the 
leaf  of  his  book,  and  began  a  new  sketch. 

Not  many  minutes  were  required  for  the  skin- 
ning of  the  bear.  When  it  was  done,  it,  along 
with  all  the  scattered  things,  was  placed  in  the 
canoe,  and  then  Redhand,  approaching  the  artist, 
touched  his  cap  and  said  — 

"  You  have  shared  our  hunt  to-day,  sir ;  may- 
hap you'll  not  object  to  share  our  camp  and  oui 
supper." 

"  Most  willingly,  my  good  friend,"  replied  the 
artist,  rising  and  holding  out  his  hand,  which  the 
trapper  shook  heartily.     "  You  seem  to  be  trap- 


s. 


)) 


per 

"  We  are,  sir,  at  your  service.  It's  gettin'  late 
and  we've  a  good  bit  to  go  yet,  before  we  come 
to  the  place  where  we  mean  to  camp,  so  you'd 
better  come  at  orce.'* 

"  Certainly ;  b^  all  means ;  let  us  embark 
without  delay,"  replied  the  artist,  pocketing  his 
I  sketch-book. 

"Pardon  me,  sir,"  said   Redhand  with  some 

I  hesitation,  "  are  you  alone  ?  " 

7»  |. 


'■I 


; 


78 


THE  WILD  MAN   OP  THE  WEST. 


fie; 


r 


"  I  am,"  replied  the  other,  sadly,  then,  as  if  a 
sudden  thought  had  struck  him  —  "I  had  two 
pistols  and  a  cloal;  once,"  i 

"  We've  picked  'em  up,  sir.  They're  in  the 
canoe  now.  At  least  the  pistols  are,  an'  what's 
lelt  o'  the  cloak." 

"  Ha !  'twas  an  old  and  cherished  friend !  Are 
you  ready  ?  " 

"  All  ready,  sir."' 

So  saying,  the  old  man  led  the  way  to  the 
canoe  and  embarked  with  his  strange  compan- 
ion. Then,  pushing  out  into  the  stream  just  as 
the  shades  of  night  began  to  descend  upon  tha 
wilderness,  the  trappers  paddled  swiftly  away, 
wondering  in  their  hearts  who  and  what  the 
stranger  could  be,  and  talking  occasionally  in 
subdued  tones  of  the  chief  incidents  of  the  ex* 
citing  combat  through  which  they  had  so  recently 
passed. 


a 


Fieiy  Kcmarks  \ 
Artist  gives  a; 
—  Discoveries 

There  is 
frapper  kno\^ 
axiomatic   ce 
enjoy  it.     He 
all  its  phases, 
nected  with  i: 
flies  from  his 
piece  of  tinde 
leaps  up  amoi 
roaring  lustily 
like  a  mighty  s 
prison-house,  i 
milted  to  reass 
Yes,  a  weste 
notion  of  a  fire 
with  that  notio 
Hie  fountain, 
bubbling  spring 
initial  acts  are 
%^^^\Y^  and  gua 
spark,  when  cai] 


FIERY   REMARKS   AND   COGITATIONS. 


79 


CHAPTER    V.       : 

Fiery  Remarks  and  Cogitations. — Round  the  Camp  Fiie. — Th« 
Artist  gives  an  Account  of  Himself.  —  Value  of  a  Sketch-Book 
—  Discoveries  and  Dark  Threats.  —  The  Beara'-claw  Collar. 


There  is  no  doubt  whatever  that  a  western 
trapper  knows  how  to  make  a  fire.  That  is  an 
axiomatic  certainty.  He  also  knows  how  to 
enjoy  it.  He  is  thoroughly  conversant  with  it  in 
all  its  phases,  and  with  all  the  phenomena  con- 
nected with  it,  from  the  bright  little  spark  that 
flies  from  his  flint  and  steel  and  nestles  on  his 
piece  of  tinder,  to  the  great  rolling  flame  that 
leaps  up  among  the  branches  of  the  forest  trees, 
roaring  lustily  as  it  goes  out  upon  the  night  air, 
like  a  mighty  spirit  set  free  from  some  diminutive 
prison-house,  rejoicing  in  being  once  more  per- 
mitted to  reassume  its  original  grand  dimensions. 

Yes,  a  western  trapper  has  a  grand,  a  massive 
notion  of  a  fire,  and  his  actions  are  all  in  keeping 
with  that  notion.  Almost  every  thing  is  small  at 
the  fountain.  A  mighty  river  usually  begins  in  a 
bubbling  spring  or  a  tiny  rivulet.  So  the  trapper's 
initial  acts  are  delicate.  He  handles  the  tinder 
gently,  and  guards  it  from  damp.  He  fosters  the 
spark,  when  caught,  and  blows  upon  it  softly,  and 


■'"■ .  i 


tk^ 


80 


THE   WILD   MAN  03'  THE   WEST. 


wraps  it  up  in  dry  grass,  and  watches  it  intently 
as  a  mother  might  watch  the  life-spark  of  her 
new-born  babe.  But  when  once  the  flame  has 
caught,  and  the  bundles  of  little  dry  twigs  has 
been  placed  above  it,  and  the  pile  of  broken  sticks 
has  been  superadded,  the  trapper's  character  is 
changed.  He  grasps  the  ponderous  hatchet,  and, 
Homerically  speaking. 

Now  toils  the  hero  :  trees  on  trees  o'erthrown, 
Falls  craL'kling  round  him,  and  the  forests  groaa. 

These,  "  lopp'd  and  lighten'd  of  their  branchy 
load,"  he  assaults  singly.  Heaving  the  huge'  axe 
with  lusty  sweeping  blows,  he  brings  it  down. 
Great  wedgy  splinters  fly  and  strew  the  plain  like 
autumn  leaves.  Then,  with  massive  logs,  full 
six  feet  long,  he  feeds  the  hungry  fire  until  it  leaps 
and  roars  in  might,  and  glo\ys  full  red  and  hot 
and  huge  enough  to  roast  him  a  bison  bull  for 
supper,  an  he  should  feel  so  disposed. 

Descending  now  from  the  abstract  to  the  con- 
crete, we  w^ould  remark  that  whether  the  reader 
does  or  does  not  admit  the  general  proposition, 
that  western  trappers  are  preeminently  up  to  fire 
(not  to  mention  smoke  or  snuff),  he  cannot  deny 
the  fact  that  Big  Waller,  the  Yankee  trapptr,  was 
peculiarly  gifted  in  that.  On  the  evening  of 
the  day  on  which  occurred  the  memorable  en- 
counter with  the  grisly  bear,  as  related  in  the  last 
chapter,  that  stalwart  individual  heaved  his  pon 


A  trapper's  fire. 


81 


derous  axe  and  felled  the  trees  around  him  m  a 
way  that  would  have  paled  the  ineffectual  fires  of 
Ulysses  himself,  and  would  probably  have  induced 
that  hero  not  only  to  cease  cutting  trees,  but  to 
commence  cutting  his  stick  thenceforth  from  the 
field  of  competition !  March  Marston  meanwhile 
idndled  the  spark  and  nursed  the  infant  flame. 
The  others  busied  themselves  in  the  various  occu- 
pations of  the  camp.  Some  cut  down  pine 
branches,  and  strewed  them  a  foot  deep  in  front 
of  the  fire,  and  trod  them  down  until  a  soft  elastic 
couch  was  formed  on  which  to  spread  their  blan- 
kets. Others  cut  steaks  of  venison  and  portions 
of  the  grisly  bear,  and  set  them  up  on  the  end  of 
sticks  before  the  fire  to  roast,  and  others  made 
fast  and  secured  the  canoe  and  her  lading. 

The  artist,  seating  himself  beside  the  fire,  just 
near  enough  to  profit  by  the  light,  but  far  enough 
away  to  obtain  a  general  view  of  every  thing  and 
everybody,  proceeded  with  enthusiasm  to  sketch 
the  whole  affair,  collectively  and  in  detail.  He 
devoted  his  chief  attention,  however,  to  Big 
Waller.  He  "  caught "  that  gigantic  Yankee  in 
every  conceivable  action  and  attitude.  He  photo- 
gi-aphed  him,  we  might  almost  say,  with  his  legs 
apart,  the  hatchet  high  above  his  head,  and  every 
muscle  tense  and  rigid,  preliminary  to  a  sweeping 
blow.  He  "  took  "  him  with  a  monstrous  pile  of 
logs  on  his  brnwny  shoulder ;  he  portrayed  him 
resting  for  a  moment  in  the  midst  of  his  toil ;  he 


s^l 


82 


THE  WILD   MAN   OF   THE   WEST. 


even  attempted  to  delineate  him  tumbli  ag  over 
one  of  the  logs  and  hurling  a  shoulder-load  upon 
the  ground ;  but  he  failed  utterly  in  the  last  at- 
tempt, being  quite  destitute  of  comical  perception, 
and  he  did  not  finally  conclude  until  GibauJt 
went  forward  and  informed  him  that  supper  was 
ready.  Then  he  shut  up  his  book,  and  taking 
his  place  beside  the  trappers,  began  supper. 

"This  is  (jomfortable  —  this  is  pleasanf"  re- 
marked the  artist,  as  he  sat  down  before  the 
warm  blaze,  and  applied  himself  with  infinite 
relish  to  the  venison-steak  placed  before  him  by 
Bounce.     "  You  liv^^  well  here  it  would  set^iri.'" 

This  latter  remark  was  addressed  tO  Kanks- 
wing,  who  sat  close  beside  him  ;  but  ihit  imper- 
turbable worthy  shook  his  hepd  gravely,    - 

"  He  don't  understand  ye,"  inttjrosed  B  )un<^e, 
"  knows  nothin'  ^^"'.t  his  own  ^rxOthei  tongue.  We 
do  live  pretty  miJdlin'  ;o  so  hereabotioS  when  we 
ain't  starvin',  w'irh  it  i-a't  for  me  to  deny  is 
sometimes  the  case,  d  ye  see." 

Bounce  stopped  his  own  talk  at  this  point  by 
stuffing  his  mouth  so  full  of  meat  that  no  word, 
not  even  a  word  of  one  syllable,  could  have  forced 
itself  out,  had  it  tried  ever  so  much.  A  long 
silence  now  ensued,  during  which  the  clack  of 
seven  pairs  of  active  jaws  was  the  only  sound 
that  broke  upon  the  ear.  It  might  have  been 
observed,  however,  that  all  eyes  were  fixed  more 
or  less  woaderingly  on  the  stranger.    Big  Waller 


BtJPPER  IN  THE   WILDERNESS. 


83 


in  particular  looked  him,  figuratively  speaking 
through  and  through.  He  did  not  remove  his 
eyes  off  him  for  an  instant,  but  devoured  his  food 
wiih  somewhat  the  expression  of  a  dog  that 
expects  his  bone  to  be  snatched  from  him. 

"  Try  a  duck,"  said  March  Marston  to  the 
artist,  observing  that  he  had  finished  his  steak. 

"  Thank  you,"  answered  the  artist,  accepting 
the  proffered  bird  which  happened  to  be  a  teal, 
and  beginning  to  carve  it  with  a  pen-knife.  He 
had  no  fork,  but  used  the  fingers  of  his  left  hand 
instead. 

Silence  again  ensued. 

"  Try  another,"  said  March  again. 

The  artist  hesitated. 

"  You'd  better ;  it's  a  fat  un." 

"  N — no.  No ! "  said  the  artist,  shutting  up 
his  knife  with  an  air  of  decision.  '*  No,  thank 
you,  I  always  advocate  moderation,  and  it  would 

ill  become  me  to  set  an  example  of  glut ah, 

of  the  reviirse. 

"  Wal,  stranger,"  said  Waller,  w^ho,  having 
finished  eating,  wiped  his  mouth  with  a  tuft  of 
grass,  and  began  to  fill  his  pipe.  "  You  do  come 
out  in  the  way  o'  moderation  rather  powerfii. 
Why  a  teal  duck  an'  a  ven'son  steak  is  barely 
enough  to  stop  a  feller  dyin'  right  off.  I  guess  a 
down-east  baby  o'  six  months  old  'ud  swab  up 
that  an'  ax  for  more." 

"  Nevertheless   it  is  quite   enough   for  me," 


iril 


m 


84 


THE   WILD   MAJ(    OF  THE   WEST. 


replied  the  artist,  leaning  down  on  his  elbow. 
"  I  could,  indeed,  eat  more  ;  but  I  hold  that  man 
should  always  rise  from  table  capable  of  eating 
more,  if  required." 

Here  was  a  proposition  that  it  had  not  entered 
into  the  minds  of  the  trappers,  even  in  their  most 
transcendental  efforts  of  abstruse  meditation,  to 
think  of!  They  gazed  at  each  other  in  amaze- 
ment. 

"  Wot !  not  eat  yer  fill  w'en  ye  git  the  chance," 
exclaimed  Bounce. 

"  No,  certainly  not."  \ 

"  I  say,  stranger,  when  did  you  feed  last  ? " 
inquired  Big  Waller." 

"  Why  do  you  ask  ?  "  said  the  artist,  looking 
quickly  up. 

"  'Cause  I  wants  to  know." 

The  artist  smiled.  "  My  last  meal  was  eaten 
yesterday  morning." 

"Ha!  I  vas  sure  ob  dat,"  cried  Gibault; 
*'  your  face  look  like  as  if  you  be  full  ob  starva- 
tion." 

"  An'  wot  did  ye  eat  last  ?  "  inquired  Bounce 
laying  down  his  pipe  and  looking  at  their  guest 
with  much  interest  not  unmingled  with  pity. 

*'  I  breakfasted  on  a  little  bird  about  the  size 
of  a  hen's  egg.  I  know  not  what  it  is  named, 
but  it  was  excellently  flavored.  I  relished  it 
much." 

On  hearing  this,  Gibault  pressed  his  hand  on 


THEODORE  BERTRAM. 


85 


hid  stomach,  as  if  the  mere  thought  of  such  e. 
delicately-minute  breakfast  caused  him  pain  in 
that  region. 

"  I  say,  stranger,"  broke  in  Waller,  in  a  tone 
of  voice  that  seemed  to  imply  that  he  was  deter- 
mined to  be  at  the  bottom  of  this  mystery  and 
would  stand  it  no  longer — "  Wot's  your  name  ?  " 

"  Theodore  Bertram,"  replied  the  artist,  without 
hesitation. 

"  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  "        ^ 

"  From  England."  ^ 

"  Where  air  you  ago  in'  to  ?  ^ 

"  To  the  Rocky  Mountains." 

"  Wot  for  to  do  there  ?  " 

"  You  are  inquisitive,  friend,"  said  Beiiram, 
smiling;  "but  I  have  no  reason  for  concealing 
my  object  in  travelling  here,  —  it  is  to  sketch,  and 
shoot,  and  take  notes,  and  witness  the  works  of 
the  Almighty  in  the  wilderness.  I  hold  it  to  be 
an  object  worthy  the  ambition  of  a  great  man  to 
act  the  part  of  pioneer  to  the  missionary  and  the 
merchant  in  nature's  wildest  and  most  inacces- 
sible regions ;  and  although  I  pretend  not  to 
greatness,  I  endeavor,  humbly,  to  do  what  I 
can. 


)) 


"  No  one  can  do  more  than  that,"  said  Red- 
hand,  regarding  the  young  enthusiast  with  inter- 
est. "  But  surely  you  have  not  travelled  to  this 
out-o'-the-way  place  without  a  guide  ?  " 

Bertram  poinded  up  to  the  stars. 

8 


IP 


H 


Iff-'  A] 


'I 


66 


THE  WILD   MAN   OF  THE  WEST. 


"  These  are  my  guides,"  said  he ;  "  the  man 
who  can  read  the  heavens  needs  no  guide." 

"  But  that  book  ain't  always  readable,"  said 
Redhand ;  "  when  clouds  are  flying  what  do  you 
doihen?" 

"  Fur-traders  in  the  far  north  have  taught  me 
how  to  ascertain  the  north  by  the  bark  on  the 
trees ;  besides  tliis  I  have  a  bosom  friend  who 
always  points  the  way."  So  saying  he  pulled  a 
small  compass  from  an  inner  pocket  and  held  it 
up. 

"Good,"  rejoined  Redhand;  "but  a  compass 
is  not  food,  neither  will  it  kill  game.  Have  you 
nought  but  them  pistols  ?  " 

"  I  have  none  other  arms  now  but  these,  save 
this  good  sword.  They  will  serve  to  defend  me 
in  the  hour  of  need,  I  trust ;  though  now  that  I 
have  seen  the  grisly  bear  I  should  doubt  my 
chance  of  success  were  I  to  cope  with  him  alone. 
I  should  imagine  that  monster  to  be  worse  even 
than  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West  himself." 

"  The  Wild  Man  o'  the  West  I "  echoed  March 
Marston,  eagerly ;  "  have  you  seen  him  ?  " 

"  Nay,  verily ;  but  I  have  heard  of  him,"  replied 
the  artist,  smiling,  "  and  a  strangely  ferocious 
creature  he  must  be,  if  all  that's  said  of  him  be 
correct.  But,  to  say  truth,  I  believe  the  stories 
told  of  him  are  idle  tales.  Indeed,  I  do  not  be- 
lieve there  is  such  a  man  at  all ! " 

March  Marston's  countenance  fell.     No  Wild 


MORE  ABOUT  THE   WILD   MAN. 


87 


Mai  of  the  West  at  all !  The  bare  possibility  of 
Buch  a  crushing  blow  to  all  his  romantic  hopes 
and  dreams  caused  his  heart  to  sink.  Bertram 
observed  the  change  in  his  countenance,  and, 
quickly  divining  the  cause,  added,  "  But  I  am  of 
a  sceptical  turn  of  mind,  and  do  not  easily  believe 
unless  I  see.  There  is  one  thing  I  have  observed, 
however,  which  is  in  favor  of  his  existence." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  inquired  March,  brightening 
up. 

"  That  the  nearer  one  comes  to  his  reputed 
dwelling-place,  this  wild  man  assumes  smaller 
and  more  natural  proportions.  I  first  heard  of  him 
in  the  Red  River  Prairies,  where  he  is  held  to  be 
a  giant  who  devours  men  as  well  as  brutes.  As 
I  came  nearer  to  the  Missouri,  I  found  that  the 
people  there  do  not  believe  him  to  be  either  a 
cannibal  or  a  giant,  but  assert  that  he  is  an  enor- 
mously tall  and  powerful  man,  exceedingly  fierce 
and  the  sworn  enemy  of  the  whole  human  race ; 
a  species  of  Cain,  whose  hand  is  against  every 
man  and  every  man's  hand  against  him.  The 
last  white  man  I  met  —  about  two  weeks  ago  — 
told  me  he  had  been  with  a  tribe  of  Indians,  some 
of  whom  had  seen  him,  and  they  said  that  he  was 
indeed  awfully  wild,  but  that  he  was  not  cruel, — 
on  the  contrary,  he  had  been  known  to  have  per- 
formed one  or  two  kind  deeds  to  some  who  had 
fallen  into  his  power." 

"Most  astonishin". "  exclaimed  GibauJt,  who 


:i 


i!    .'i: 


w>ii        % 


88 


THE   WILD   MAN   OP  THE   WEST. 


sat  open-mouthed   and   open-eyed  listening  to 
this  account  of  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West. 

For  some  time  the  party  round  the  camp-fire" 
sat  smoking  in  silence,  ruminating  on  what  had 
been  said.  Then  Big  Waller  broke  the  silence 
with  one  of  his  abrupt  questions,  — 

"  But,  I  say,  stranger,  how  did  you  come 
here  ?  " 

Bertram  looked  up  without  speaking.  Then, 
settling  himself  comfortably  in  a  reclining  posi- 
tion, with  his  back  against  a  tree,  he  said,  — 

"  I  will  relieve  your  curiosity.  Listen  :  I  £tm, 
as  I  have  said,  an  Englishman.  My  father  and 
mother  are  dead.  I  have  no  brothers  or  sisters, 
and  but  few  relations.  Possessing,  as  I  do,  a 
small  independence,  I  am  not  obliged  to  work  for 
my  living.  I  have,  therefore,  come  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  it  is  my  duty  to  work  for  my  fellow-men. 
Of  course,  I  do  not  mean  to  deny  that  every 
man  who  works  for  his  living,  works  also  for  his 
feUow-men.  What  I  mean  is,  that  I  hold  myself 
bound  to  apply  myself  to  such  works  as  other 
men  have  not  leisure  to  undertake,  and  the  prolil 
of  which  will  go  direct  to  manidnd  without  con- 
stituting my  livelihood  on  its  passage.  To  ojkmi 
up  the  unknown  wilderness  has  ever  bt;en  my 
ambition.  For  that  purpose  I  have  come  to  the-e 
wild  regions.  My  enthusiasm  on  quitting  my 
native  land  was  unbounded.     But " 

Here  Bertram  paused  and  gazed  dreamily  at  the 


BERTRAM  TELLS  HIS   STORY. 


89 


glowing  embers  of  the  camp-fire  with  an  expres- 
sion that  led  the  trappers  to  infer  that  experience 
had  somewhat  moderated  his  enthusiasm.  After 
a  few  minutes  he  resumed :  — 

*<  I  have  done  wrong  to  make  this  venture  alone. 
On  reaching  Canada  I  succeeded,  through  the 
kindness  of  the  governor  of  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company,  in  obtaining  a  passage  in  one  of  the 
company's  canoes  through  that  series  of  rivers  and 
lakes  by  which  the  fur-traders  penetrate  into  the 
regions  of  the  far  north.  Arrived  at  Red  River 
Settlement,  I  pushed  forward  on  horeback  over 
the  plains  with  a  small  party  of  horsemen  to  the 
head-waters  of  the  Saskatchwan.  Here  I  suc- 
ceeded in  engaging  a  party  of  twelve  men,  com- 
posed of  half-breeds  and  Indians,  and  set  out  on 
a  journey  of  exploration  over  the  prairies  toward 
the  Rocky  Mountains.  Circumstances  led  me  to 
modify  my  plans.  We  diverged  towards  the  south, 
and  hnally  came  to  within  a  few  days'  journey  of 
the  region  in  which  we  now  are.  We  were  sud- 
denly surprised  one  night  by  a  war-party  of 
Blackfoot  Indians.  My  men  had  grown  careless. 
They  neglected  to  keep  a  strict  watch,  and  before 
we  were  aware  that  danger  threatened  us,  all  our 
horses  were  carried  off. 

"  This  was  a  terrible  calamity.  My  men  de- 
clared that  it  was  impossible  to  advance  without 
horses,  and  refused  to  accompany  me  any  further, 
i  remonstrated  in  vain,  then,  fiUed  with  indigna- 


r    \ 


I 


^H 


M' 


1: 


a 


H'   f. 


^!^^.. 


.1 


.\S 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


1.1 


I^IM    125 

■so    ^^      ■?"  i 


Si 


Lo    12.0 


11:25   |I|_U    11.6 


Plioliographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WIST  MAIN  STRUT 

WIBSTIR,N.Y.  MSM 

(71«)t7a-4S03 


) 


»* 


'% 


90 


THE  WILD  MAN  OP  THE  WEST. 


tion  at  their  cowardice,  I  left  them  and  pur- 
sued my  journey  alone.  Since  then  I  have  seen 
only  one  man,  a  trapper,  who  was  travelling  south 
to  the  settlements.  He  offered  to  take  me  with 
him,  but  I  declined.  I  felt  that  no  great  or  good 
work  could  ever  be  accomplished  by  the  man  who 
turns  back  at  the  first  disaster;  so  he  left  me. 
I  liave  suffered  somewhat.  I  am,  unfortunately, 
a  bad  shot,  and  although  game  is  everywhere 
abundant,  I  cannot  kill  it.  I  have  subsisted 
hitherto  on  small  birds  ;  but  my  powder  and  lead 
are  almost  expended.  Had  I  not  fallen  in  wi^h 
you  I  know  not  what  I  should  have  done." 

To  this  narrative  the  trappers  listened  with 
respectful  attention,  for,  despite  the  feelings  of 
pity  —  almost  bordering  on  contempt  —  with 
which  they  regarded  the  stranger's  weapons  and 
his  knowledge,  or  rather  ignorance,  of  woodcraft, 
they  could  not  help  reverencing  the  simple- 
minded  enthusiasm  in  a  good  cause,  that  had 
conducted  the  artist  so  deep  into  a  savage  land 
in  which  he  was  evidently  unfitted,  either  by 
nature  or  training,  to  travel. 

"  But  I  say,  stranger,"  said  Big  Waller,  "  wot 
do  ye  mean  by  openin*  up  the  country  ?  It  ain't 
a  oyster,  that  ye  can  open  it  up  with  a  big  knife 
I  guess. 

"  There,  friend,  you  are  wrong.  This  country 
does,  indeed,  resemble  an  oyster ;  and  I  hope  by 
the  aid  of  the  mighty  levers  of  knowledge  and 


Bia  WALLER  IN  A  BOOK. 


91 


enterprise  to  open  it  up.  I  mean  to  take  notes 
and  sketches,  and,  if  spared,  return  to  my  native 
land  and  publish  the  result  of  my  observations. 
I  do  not,  indeed,  expect  that  the  public  will  buy 
my  work ;  but  I  shall  publish  a  large  edition  at 
my  own  cost,  and  present  copies  to  all  the  influ 
ential  men  in  the  kingdom." 

The  trappers  opened  their  eyes  wider  than  ever 
at  this. 

«  What !     Make  a  book  ?  "  cried  Redhand. 

"  Even  so." 

"  Will  it  have  pictures  ?  "  eagerly  asked  March, 
who  regarded  the  artist  with  rapidly  increasing 
veneration. 

"  Ay,  it  will  be  profusely  illustrated." 

"  Wot !  pictures  o'  grisly  bears  ? "  inquired 
Bounce. 

"  Of  course." 

"  An'  men  ?  "  cried  Big  Waller. 

"  And  men  also,  if  I  fall  in  with  them." 

"  Then  here's  one,  I  guess,"  cried  the  bold 
Yankee,  combing  out  his  matted  locks  hastily 
with  his  fingers,  and  sitting  up  in  what  he  con- 
ceived to  be  a  proper  position.  "  Here  you  are, 
sir.  VvLi  your  man;  fix  me  off  slick.  Only 
think !    Big  Waller  in  a  book  —  a  raal  book !  " 

He  chuckled  immensely  at  the  bright  prospect 
of  immortality  that  had  suddenly  opened  up  to 
him. 

"I  have  drawn  you  already,  friend,"  said 
Bertram. 


92 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


\ 


"  Draw^d  me  already  ?  " 

"  Ay,  there  you  are,"  he  replied,  handing  his 
sketch-book  to  the  trapper,  who  gazed  at  his  own 
portrait  with  unmitigated  satisfaction.  Turning 
over  the  leaf,  he  came  unexpectedly  on  the  like 
ness  of  Gibault,  which,  being  a  truthful  represen 
tation,  was  almost  a  caricature.  Big  Waller 
burst  into  an  uncontrollable  fit  of  laughter  at 
this.  He  rolled  over  on  his  back  and  yelled  with 
delight.  His  yell  being  quite  in  keeping  with  his 
body,  the  din  was  so  tremendous  that  Bounce 
roared  — 

"  Stop  yer  noise,  ye  buffalo ! " 

But  Waller  didn't  hear  him ;  so  March  Mars 
ton  effected  the  desired  object  by  stuffing  the 
corner  of  a  blanket  into  his  mouth,  and  smoth- 
ering his  face  in  its  folds. 

Bertram's  sketch-book  was  now  examined,  and 
for  nearly  an  hour  proved  a  source  of  the  most 
intense  interest  and  amusement  to  these  unso- 
phisticated trappers.  In  those  days  few,  very 
few  men  of  education  had  succeeded  in  penetrat- 
ing far  into  the  western  wilderness ;  and  although 
the  trappers  there  knew  what  books  and  pictures 
meant,  they  had  seen  but  few  of  them  in  the 
course  of  their  lives,  and  none  of  those  few  had 
any  reference  to  the  wild  country  in  which  their 
lives  were  spent.  ^ 

It  may  be  imagined,  then,  with  what  deUght 
and  ^xcittment  they  now,  for  the  first  time, 


REDHAND  FINDS  A  FACE  HE  KNOWS. 


93 


beheld  scenes  of  their  own  beloved  woods  and 
prairies,  as  well  as  their  own  rough  forms,  vividly 
sketched  by  a  master-hand.  One  of  the  most 
interesting  points  in  the  inspection  of  the  sketch- 
book was,  that  old  Redhand  recognized  almost 
every  one  of  the  landscapes  as  spots  with  which 
he  was  well  acquainted;  and  as  Bertram  had 
sketched  most  diligently  as  he  travelled  along, 
Redhand  told  him  that  by  the  aid  of  that  book, 
without  compass  or  any  thing  else,  he  could  trace 
his  route  backward,  step  by  step,  to  the  Saskatch* 
wan  river.  Moreover,  he  described  to  the  artist 
accurately  many  scenes  which  were  near  to  those 
he  had  sketched,  and  gradually  fell  to  talking 
about  adventures  and  rencontres  he  had  had  in 
many  of  them,  so  that  at  last  it  became  evident 
there  would  be  no  proposal  to  go  to  rest  that 
night  at  all  unless  some  wise  one  of  the  party 
should  remind  the  others  that  another  day's  toil 
lay  before  them  in  the  course  of  a  few  hours. 

At  length  they  took  up  their  pipes,  which  had 
been  forgotten  in  the  excitement,  and  refilled 
them  with  the  intention  of  having  a  last  quiet 
whifF  before  lying  down. 

"  Ho ! "  exclaimed  Redhand,  who  still  con- 
tinued to  turn  over  the  pages  of  the  book, 
"here's  a  face  I  know.  Where  saw  ye  that 
Indian?" 

"I  cannot  easily  tell  where  it  was  wc  met 
him;   but  I  remember  well  that   t  was  just  a 


94 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


day*8  ride  firom  the  spot  where  our  horses  were 
stolen." 

"  Were  there  others  with  him  ?  " 

"  No,  he  was  alone." 

"  Ha !  at  least  he  said  so,  I  fancy." 

"  Yes,  he  did ;  ai  d  I  have  no  reason  to  doubt 
him." 

"  You're  not  used  to  the  ways  o'  the  red-skin, 
sir,"  replied  Redhand,  looking  meditat.i^^ely  at 
the  fire.  "Did  he  chance  to  mention  his 
name  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  called  himself  Big  Snake,  at  least 
one  of  my  men  translated  it  so."  * 

A  significant  smile  overspread  the  old  trapper's 
face  as  he  replied  — 

"  I  thought  as  much.  A  greater  thief  and 
villain  does  not  disgrace  the  prairies.  He*s  the 
man  that  took  yer  horses ;  sich  a  fellow  as  that 
never  goes  about  alone ;  he's  always  got  a  tail 
following  him  as  black  as  himself.  But  I'll  see 
if  we  can't  pay  the  rascal  off  in  his  own  coin." 

"  How  so  ?  "  inquired  Bertram.  "  He  must  be 
far  from  this  spot." 

"  Not  so  far  as  you  think.  I  know  his  haunts, 
and  could  take  you  to  them  in  a  few  days  over- 
land ;  but  it'll  take  longer  by  the  river,  and  we 
can't  quit  our  canoe  just  now." 

"  But,  good  friend,"  said  Bertram,  quietly,  '*  I 
cannot  presume  on  your  hospitality  so  far  as  to 


GIBATJLT  IN  LOVE  WITH  A  NECKLACE. 


95 


II 


expect  you  to  carry  me  along  with  you  for  the 
purpose  of  redressing  my  wrongs." 

"  Make  your  mind  easy  on  that  pint,'*  returned 
Redhand,  "  we'll  talk  of  it  in  the  mornin'." 

While  the  old  trapper  and  the  artist  were  con- 
versing, Bounce  had  busied  himself  in  stringing 
the  claws  of  the  grisly  bear  on  a  strip  of  deer- 
skin, for  the  purpose  of  making  a  collar.  A 
necklace  of  this  description  is  very  highly  prized 
among  Indians,  especially  when  the  claws  are 
large. 

While  it  was  being  made,  Gibault  sighed  so 
deeply  once  or  twice,  that  March  suggested  he 
must  be  in  love. 

«  So  I  is,"  sighed  Gibault. 

"  That's  interesting,"  remarked  March ;  "  who 
with  ?  " 

"  Ay,  that's  it,"  said  Bounce ;  "  out  with  her 
name,  lad.  No  one  ought  never  to  be  ashamed 
o'  bein'  in  love.  It's  a  glorious  state  o'  mind  an' 
body  as  a  feller  should  gratilate  hisself  on  havin*. 
Who  be  ye  in  love  wi',  lad  ?  " 

"  Vid  dat  necklace,"  replied  Gibault,  sighing 
again  heavily. 

"  Oh !  if  that's  all,  ye  don't  need  to  look  so 
blue,  for  it's  yer  own  by  rights,"  said  Bounce. 
"  I'm  jist  doin'  it  up  for  ye." 

"  Non ;  it  cannot  be  mine,"  returned  Gibault. 

"How  so?"  inquired  Waller,  "ye  arned  it, 
didn't  ye  ?    Drew  first  blood  I  calc'late." 


96 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THB  WEST. 


"  Non,  I  not  draw  de  fuss  blood.  Mais,  I  viJI 
hab  chance  again  no  doubt.  Monsieur  Bertram 
he  draw  fuss  blood." 

"  Ho,  ho ! "  cried  Waller,  in  surprise.  "  You 
didn't  tell  us  that  before.  Come,  Pm  glad 
on't.'' 

"  What ! "  exclaimed  Bertram,  "  the  necklace 
min(?  ?  there  must  be  some  mistake.  I  certainly 
fired  my  pistol  at  the  bear,  but  it  seemed  to  have 
had  no  effect  whatever." 

"  Gibault,"  said  Bounce,  emphatically,  *'  did 
vou  fire  at  all .' " 

"  Non,  pour  certain,  cause  de  gun  he  not  go 
off." 

"  Then,"  continued  Bounce,  handing  the  much- 
coveted  necklace  to  Bertram,  "  the  thing  b'longs 
to  you,  sir,  for  that  bar  corned  up  wounded,  an' 
as  he  couldn't  ha'  wounded  hisself,  you  must  ha' 
done  it  —  there." 

The  young  man  positively  refused,  for  some 
time,  to  accept  of  the  necklace,  saying,  that  as 
Gibault  had  tracked  and  discovered  the  bear,  it 
certainly  belonged  to  him ;  but  Gibault  as  posi- 
tively affirmed  that  he  would  not  disgrace  himself 
by  wearing  what  belonged  rightfully  to  another 
man  ;  and  as  the  other  trappers  confirmed  what 
their  comrade  said,  Bertram  was  at  last  fain  to 
accept  of  a  trophy  which,  to  say  truth,  he  was  in 
his  heart  most  anxious  to  possess. 

At  the  termination  of  this  amicable  dispute, 


THE  CAMP  BimiED  IN  REPOSE. 


97 


each  man  rolled  himself  in  his  blanket  and  lay 
down  to  sleep  with  his  feet  to  the  fire.  Being  in 
a  part  of  the  country  where  there  were  very  few 
Indians,  and  these  few  on  pretty  good  terms  with 
the  white  trappers,  no  watch  was  set.  Bertram 
lay  down  with  his  tattered  cloak  around  Mm, 
and,  taking  a  little  book  from  his  pocket,  read  it, 
or  appeared  to  read  it,  till  he  fell  asleep,  —  on 
observing  which,  March  Marston  crept  noise- 
lessly to  his  side,  and,  lying  gently  down  be- 
side him,  covered  him  with  a  portion  of  his 
own  blanket.  Ere  long  the  camp  was  buried  in 
repose. 


98 


THE  WILD  MAX  OF  THE  WEST. 


CHAPTER    VI. 


The  Dangers  of  the  Wilderness.  — An  Unexpected  Catastrophe, 
which  necessitates  a  Change  of  Flans.  —  A  Descent  upon  Robbers 
proposed'  and  agreed  to. 

There  are  few  passages  in  the  Holy  Writ  more 
frequently  brought  to  remembrance  by  the  inci- 
dents of  every-day  life  than  this  —  "  Ye  know  not 
what  a  day  or  an  hour  may  bring  forth."  Tne 
uncertainty  of  sublunary  things  is  proverbial, 
whether  in  the  city  or  the  wilderness,  whether 
among  the  luxuriously-nurtured  sons  and  daugh- 
ters of  civilization,  or  among  the  toil-worn  wan- 
derers in  the  midst  of  savage  life.  To  each  and 
all  there  is,  or  may  be,  sunshine  to-day  and  cloud 
to-morrow ;  gladness  to-day,  sadness  to-morrow. 
There  is  no  such  thing  as  perpetual  felicity  in  the 
world  of  matter.  A  nearer  approach  to  it  may 
perhaps  be  made  in  the  world  of  mind  ;  but,  like 
perpetual  motion,  it  is  not  to  be  absolutely  ai^^- 
tained  in  this  world  of  ours.  Those  who  fancy 
that  it  is  to  be  found  in  the  wilderness,  are 
hereby  warned,  by  one  who  has  dwelt  in  sa^'age 
landsj  that  its  habitation  is  not  there. 

March  Marston  thought  it  was !  On  the  morn- 
ing after  the  night  w^ose  close  we  have  described, 


MAROB   IfARSTON'S  BEVEBIE. 


99 


he  awoke  refreshed,  invigorated,  and  buoyant  with 
a  feeling  of  youthful  strength  and  health.  Start- 
ing up,  he  met  the  glorious  sun  face  to  face,  as  it 
rose  above  the  edge  of  a  distant  blue  hill,  and  the 
meeting  almost  blinded  him.  There  was  a  saffron 
hue  over  the  eastern  landscape  that  caused  it  to 
appear  like  the  plains  of  Paradise,  Lakelets  in 
the  prairies  glittered  in  the  midst  of  verdant 
foliage ;  ponds  in  the  hollows  lay,  as  yet  unillu- 
mined,  like  blots  of  ink;  streams  and  rivuleta 
gleamed  as  they  flowed  round  wooded  knoUs,  or 
sparkled  silvery  white  as  they  leaped  over  rocky 
obstructions.  The  noble  river,  on  the  banks  of 
which  the  camp  had  been  made,  floweu  with  a 
calm  sweep  through  the  richly-varied  country  — 
refreshing  to  look  upon  and  pleasant  to  hear,  as 
it  murmured  on  its  way  to  join  the  "  Father  of 
waters."  The  soft  roar  of  a  far-distant  cataract 
was  heard  mingling  with  the  cries  of  innumerable 
water-fowl  that  had  risen  an  hour  before  to  enjoy 
the  first  breathings  of  the  young  day.  To  March 
Marston's  ear  it  seemed  as  though  all  Nature, 
animate  and  inanimate,  were  rejoicing  in  the 
beneficence  of  its  Creator. 

The  youth's  reverie  was  suddenly  broken  by 
th'e  approach  of  Theodore  Bertram. 

"  Good  morrow,  friend,"  said  the  latter,  grasp- 
ing March's  hand  and  shaking  it  heartily.  "  You 
are  early  astir.  Oh,  what  a  scene !  What  heavenly 
colors !    What  a  glorious  expanse  of  beauty ! " 


1 


,^ 


100 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


The  artist's  hand  moved  involuntarily  to  the 
pouch  in  which  he  was  wont  to  carry  his  sketch- 
book, but  he  did  not  draw  it  forth  ;  his  soul  was 
too  deeply  absorbed  in  admiration  to  permit  of 
his  doing  aught  but  gaze  in  silence. 

"  This  repays  my  toils,"  he  resumed,  solilo- 
quizing rather  than  speaixing  to  March.  *''Twere 
worth  a  journey  such  as  I  have  taken,  twice  re- 
peated, to  witness  puch  a  scene  as  this." 

"  Ay,  aint  it  grand  ?  "  said  March,  delighted  to 
find  such  congenial  enthusiasm  in  the  young 
painter.  , 

Bertram  turned  his  eyes  on  his  companion,  and, 
in  doing  so,  observed  the  wild  rose  at  his  side, 

"  Ah !  sweet  rose,"  he  said,  stooping  eagerly 
down  to  smell  it, 

"  Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen, 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air." 


"  He  was  no  poet  who  wrote  that,  anyhow," 
observed  March,  with  a  look  of  disdain. 

"  You  are  wrong,  friend.  He  was  a  good 
poet  and  true." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  the  sweetness 
o'  that  rose  is  wasted  here  ?  " 

"  Nay,  I  do  not  say  that.  The  poet  did  not 
mean  to  imply  that  its  sweetness  is  utterly 
wasted,  but  to  assert  the  fact  that,  as  far  as  civ- 
ilized man  is  concerned,  it  is  so." 

"  *  Civilized  man,* "  echoed  March,  turnin^^  u*" 


CONVERSATION  AI''  '  LY  TERMINATED.   10 


his  nose  (a  difficult  feat,  by  the  way,  for  his  nose 
by  nature  turned  down).  "  An'  pray  what's 
'  civilized  man  '  that  he  should  think  every  thing's 
wasted  that  don't  go  in  at  his  own  eyes,  or  up 
his  own  nose,  or  down  his  own  throat?  eh!  ' 
Bertram  laughed  slightly  (he  never  laughed 
heartily).     "  You  are  a  severe  critic,  friend." 

"  I  don't  know,  and  I  don't  care,  what  sort  o' 
cricket  I  am ;  but  this  I  do  know,  that  roses  are 
as  little  wasted  here  as  in  your  country  —  may- 
hap not  so  much.  Why,  I  tell  ye  I've  seen  the 
bars  smell  'em." 

"  Indeed." 

"  Ay,  an'  eat  'em  too ! " 

"  That  was  not  taking  a  poetical  view  of 
them,"  suggested  Bertram. 

"  Perhaps  not,  but  it  was  uncommonly  prac- 
tical ; "  returned  March,  laughing. 

The  conversation  was  abruptly  terminated  at 
this  point  by  a  flock  of  wild  ducks,  which,  igno- 
rant of  the  presence  of  the  two  youths,  swept 
close  past  their  heads  with  a  startling  whirr. 
The  artist  leaped  backwards,  and  March,  partly 
in  the  exuberant  glee  of  his  heart,  and  partly  to 
relieve  his  own  startled  feelings,  gave  utterance 
to  a  hideous  yell. 

"  Hi !  hallo ! "  roared  Big  Waller,  starting  up 
and  replying  to  the  yell  with  compound  interest. 
"  Wot's  to  do  ?  Bars  or  savages  —  which  ? 
Oh !  savages  I  see,"  he  added,  rubbing  his  eyeS; 

9* 


102 


THB   WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


as  he  observed  March  laughing  at  him.  "  Ha ! 
lad,  d'ye  know  there's  a  sort  o'  critter  in  other 
diggins  o'  this  here  world  as  they  calls  a  hi-eeno 
or  somethin'  o'  that  sort,  as  can  laug-h,  it  can  ;  so 
y  in're  not  the  only  beast  as  can  do  it,  d'ye  see !  " 

The  camp  was  now  thoroughly  roused,  and  the 
trappers  set  about  making  preparations  for  a 
8^  irt ;  but  little  was  said.  It  is  generally  the 
case  at  early  morning  —  at  least  among  healthy 
men  who  have  work  to  do  before  breakfast  in  the 
wilderness  —  that  tongues  are  disinclined  to 
move.  After  the  first  somewhat  outrageous  aiid 
rather  unusual  burst,  no  one  spoke  again,  while 
they  carried  their  goods  down  to  the  water's 
edge,  except  in  a  short  grumpy  way  when  an 
order  or  a  remark  was  needful.  In  about  ten 
minutes  arter  the  utterance  of  Big  Waller's  roar, 
they  were  in  their  places  in  the  little  red  canoe, 
paddling  blithely  up  the  river. 

Bertram's  place  in  the  canoe  was  the  centre. 
He  was  placed  there  as  a  passenger,  but,  not  be- 
ing by  any  means  of  a  lazy  disposition,  he  re- 
lieved all  the  men  by  turns,  and  thus  did  a  good 
share  of  the  work  during  the  day. 

Toward  evening  the  travellers  came  to  a  cat- 
aract, which  effectually  barred  their  further  pro- 
gress, and  rendered  a  portage  necessary.  Just 
above  the  cataract  there  was  a  short  stretch  of 
comparatively  smooth  water,  in  which,  however, 
the  current  was  very  strong.    Immediately  above 


MODE  OP  PROCEEDING   SETTLED. 


102 


that  there  was  a  rapid  of  considerable  length  and 
strength,  which  boiled  furiously  among  the  rocks, 
and  seemed  to  be  impassable  to  a  canoe.  After 
close  inspection  of  it,  however,  Redhand  and 
Bounce,  who  were  tacidy  recognized  as  joint 
leaders  of  the  party,  agreed  that  the  canoe  could 
easily  enough  be  hauled  up  by  means  of  i\  line. 
To  make  a  long  portage,  and  so  avoid  the  wiiole 
obstruction,  was  desirable  ;  but  the  precipitous 
nature  of  the  banks  at  that  place  rendered  the 
carrying  of  the  canoe  and  goods  a  work  not  only 
of  severe  labor,  but  of  considerable  danger. 

The  mode  of  proceeding  having  been  settled, 
all  hands  went  to  work  without  delay.  The 
goods  were  carried  to  the  top  of  the  fall,  which 
was  about  fifteen  feet  high,  then  the  canoe  was 
shouldered  by  Waller  and  Bounce,  and  soon  it 
floated  in  a  calm  eddy  near  the  head  of  the  cata- 
ract. Having  replaced  the  cargo,  a  strong  line 
or  rope  was  fastened  to  the  bows,  and  Redhand 
and  Bounce  proceeded  to  take  their  places  in  the 
canoe,  in  order  to  guide  it  through  the  rapid, 
while  the  others  were  engaged  in  hauling  on  the 
track-line. 

"  Stay,"  cried  March  Marston,  as  Bounce  was 
stepping  in,  "  let  me  go  in  the  canoe.  Bounce. 
You  know  well  enough  that  I  can  manage  it  • 
besides,  you're  a  heavy  buffalo,  and  more  able  to 
track  than  I." 

"  Nay,  lad,"  replied  Bounce,  shaking  his  head, 


m 


^i 


iM 


104 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


th- 


"  You'll  only  run  the  risk  o'  gettin'  a  wet  skin  — 
mayhap  somethin'  worse." 

"  Now,  that's  too  bad.  D'ye  think  nobody  can 
manage  a  canoe  but  yourself?  Come,  Redhand, 
do  let  me  go." 

"  It's  not  safe,  boy.  The  rapid  looks  bad,  and 
you're  not  much  used  to  the  bow-paddle." 

"  Tut,  nonsense,"  exclaimed  March,  pushing 
Bounce  aside  and  stepping  into  the  canoe.  "  Now, 
hold  on." 

Before  the  men  on  the  bank  of  the  river  were 
well  aware  of  what  the  reckless  youth  was  aboi^t, 
he  shoved  the  bow  of  the  canoe  off.  The  instant 
it  passed  the  still  water  of  the  eddy  and  caught 
the  powerful  stream,  the  light  bark  darted  like  an 
arrow  from  the  bank,  and  Redhand  was  obliged 
to  use  his  paddle  with  the  utmost  dexterity,  while 
the  men  on  shore  had  to  haul  on  the  line  with  all 
their  might,  to  prevent  it  being  swept  over  the 
brink  of  the  fall.  In  a  second,  however,  the 
danger  was  past,  and,  putting  their  strength  to 
the  track-line,  they  dragged  the  canoe  slowly  but 
steadily  up-stream,  while  Redhand  and  March 
guided  it  past  rocks  and  dangerous  eddies.  Seeing 
that  the  youth  used  his  paddle  dexterously, 
Bounce,  after  a  little  thought,  resolved  to  let  him 
encounter  the  more  dangerous  rapid  above.  Red- 
hand  silently  came  to  the  same  conclusion,  though 
he  felt  uneasy  and  blamed  himself  for  allowing 
the  ardor  of  the  bov  to  get  the  better  of  him. 


DANGEBS   OF   A  TRAPPER'S   LIFE. 


105 


"March  is  a  bold  fellow,'-  observed  Bertram, 
who  walked  immediately  behind  Bounce,  hauling 
on  the  line  like  the  rest. 

"  Bold  he  is,  sir,"  replied  Bounce ;  "  an'  if  ye'd 
ieed  him,  as  I  did  not  many  weeks  agone,  a-ridin' 
on  the  back  of  a  buffalo  bull,  ye'd  mayhap  say 
he  was  more  nor  that." 

"  Hah!  he  is  mad!"  cried  Gibault,  who,  although 
the  last  in  the  line  of  track smen,  was  sharp-eared, 
and  overheard  the  conversation. 

"  Don't  talk,  Gibault,"  interposed  Big  Waller, 
"you  need  all  the  wind  in  your  little  carcase,  I 
guess,  to  enable  you  to  steam  ahead." 

"  Oui,  mon  dear  ami,  you  is  right — I  do  ver' 
much  require  all  mine  steam  —  mine  spirits  —  for 
to  push  such  a  heavy,  useless  hulk  as  you  before 


>• 


me. 

"  Here's  a  steep  bit,  lads ;  mind  your  eye, 
Hawk  swing,"  said  Bounce,  as  the  Indian  who 
led  the  party  began  to  ascend  a  steep  part  of  the 
bank,  where  the  footing  was  not  secure,  owing 
to  the  loose,  gravelly  nature  of  the  soil. 

As  they  advanced,  the  path  along  the  bank 
became  narrower,  and  the  cliff  itself  so  precipi- 
tous that  it  seemed  as  if  a  jerk  on  the  line  would 
drag  the  men  off  and  send  them  rolling  down  into 
the  flood  below,  in  the  midst  of  which  the  canoe 
was  buffeting  its  way  through  the  hissing  foam. 

Bertram,  who  was  unused  to  such  a  position 
of  comparative  danger,  and  whose  head  was  no* 


; 


iS:» 


M 


K'  ■? 


ih''i 


106 


THE  WILD   MAN   OP  THE  WEST. 


capable  of  standing  the  sight  of  a  precipice 
descending  from  his  very  feet  into  a  roaring 
stream,  began  to  feel  giddy,  and  would  have 
given  the  world  to  return ;  but  he  felt  ashamed  to 
confess  his  weakness,  and  endeavored,  by  gazing 
earnestly  into  the  bank  at  his  side,  to  steady  him- 
self, hoping  that  the  nature  of  the  track  would 
improve  as  they  advanced.  Instead  of  this  being 
the  case,  it  became  worse  at  every  step,  and  the 
trackers  were  at  length  obliged  to  proceed  cau- 
tiously along  a  ledge  of  rock  that  barely  afforded 
them  foothold.  Bertram  now  felt  an  almost  irre- 
sistible desire'  to  turn  his  head  to  the  left  and 
glance  at  the  river  below  ;  yet  he  knew  that  if  he 
should  do  so,  he  would  become  utterly  unable  to 
advance  another  yard.  While  engaged  in  this 
struggle  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  it  was 
impossible  now  to  turn,  no  matter  how  nervous 
he  should  become,  as  the  path  was  too  narrow  to 
permit  one  of  the  party  to  pass  another!  He 
became  deadly  pale,  and  his  heart  sank  at  the 
thought.  Little  did  the  hardy  trappers  think,  as 
they  plodded  silently  along,  that  such  an  agoniz- 
ing conflict  was  going  on  in  the  breast  of  one  of 
their  number!  A  slight  groan  escaped  him  in 
spite  of  his  utmost  eflbrts  to  restrain  himself. 
Bounce  looked  back  in  surprise. 

"  Hey !  wot's  to  do,  sir  ?  " 

"No  matter;  lead  on  —  I  will  follow,"  said 
Bertram,  sternly,  between  his  clenched  teeth. 


THE   CANOE  IN  THE  RAPi:). 


107 


"Hallo!  up  there,"  shouted  Redhand,  who 
was  at  that  moment,  along  with  March,  exerting 
his  utmost  strength  in  order  to  keep  the  canoe 
ofF  a  rock  over  which  the  water  was  bursting  in 
volumes  of  thick  foam ;  "  haul  away !  haul  away ! 
we're  just  about  up." 

The  shout  attracted  Bertram's  attention:  he 
turned  his  eyes  involuntarily  towards  the  river. 
Instantly  his  brain  swam  round;  he  staggered, 
and  would  have  fallen  over  the  bank,  had  not  Big 
Waller,  who  was  close  behind,  observed  his  situa- 
tion and  caught  him  by  the  collar.  In  doing  so 
he  was  compelled  to  let  go  his  hold  of  the  line. 
The  additional  strain  thus  suddenly  cast  upon 
Gibault  wrenched  the  line  from  his  grasp  with  a 
degree  of  violence  that  wellnigh  hurled  him  into 
the  river.  Bounce  and  Hawkswing  held  on  for 
one  moment,  but  the  canoe,  having  been  eased 
off  a  little,  caught  a  sweep  of  the  rapid,  and  went 
out  with  a  dart  that  the  united  strength  of  the 
whole  party  could  not  have  checked.  The  two 
men  had  to  let  go  to  save  themselves,  and  in  a 
shorter  time  than  it  takes  to  relate,  the  canoe 
went  down  the  river  towards  the  fall  dancing  like 
a  cork  on  the  heaving  spray,  while  the  old  man 
and  the  youth  stood  up  in  the  bow  and  stern 
wielding  their  paddles,  now  on  one  side,  now  on 
the  other,  with  ceaseless  rapidity  in  their  efforts 
to  avoid  being  dashed  to  pieces  on  the  rocks. 

The  sight  of  this  catastrophe,  superadded  to  his 


:i 


M 


fe  if 

I 

ill 


108 


THE   WILD   MAN   OP  THE   WEST. 


already  agonized  feelings,  caused  the  unhappy 
artist  to  swoon.  Gibault,  on  seeing  the  line  let 
go,  turned  instantly,  and  sprang  like  a  deer  along 
the  track  they  had  been  following,  intending  to 
render  what  assistance  he  could  to  his  comrades 
at  the  foot  of  the  rapid.  The  others  could  not 
follow,  because  of  Big  Waller  and  the  artist,  who 
obstructed  the  path.  Seeing  this,  the  powerful 
Yankee  seized  Bertram  round  the  waist,  and, 
heaving  him  on  his  shoulder  as  one  would  swing 
a  child,  followed  in  Gibault's  footsteps  as  fast  as 
he  could  run.  \ 

The  distance  to  the  spot  whence  they  had  com- 
menced to  track  the  canoe  was  not  great,  but 
oefore  they  reached  it  the  frail  craft  had  been 
shattered  against  a  rock,  and  was  now  hurry in^^ 
along  with  the  scattered  cargo  and  the  two  men 
toward  the  fall,  to  pass  over  which  involved 
certain  destruction. 

There  is  nothing  more  uncertain,  however,  than 
the  action  of  the  whirling  eddies  of  a  great  rapid. 
True,  the  general  flow  of  its  body  of  water  is  ahuost 
always  the  same,  but  its  superficial  billows  are 
more  variable  —  now  tossing  a  drifting  log  to  the 
right,  anon  to  the  left,  and  casting  it  ashore,  or 
dragging  it  with  a  fearful  violence  into  the  raging 
current.  Although  there  was  only  the  canoe's 
length  between  the  old  trapper  and  the  youth 
when  they  were  left  struggling  in  the  water,  they 
were  swept  in  totally  different  directions.     Red- 


DANGEROUS  POSITION  OF  MARCH  MARSTON.     109 


band  was  hurled  violently  into  the  eddy,  where 
the  canoe  had  lain  before  the  ascent  was  com- 
menced, and  was  dragged  safe  to  land  by  his 
comrades.  March  Marston,  on  the  other  hand, 
was  swept  out  near  to  the  main  current,  and 
would,  in  two  seconds  more,  have  been  carried 
over  the  fall,  had  he  not,  with  wonderful  presence 
of  mind  and  an  almost  superhuman  exertion  of 
muscle,  dashed  into  an  eddy  which  was  formed 
by  a  rock  about  fifty  yards  from  the  top  of  the 
fall.  The  rock  was  completely  covered  with  the 
bursting  spray,  so  that  it  formed  no  resting-place, 
and  it,  with  the  partial  eddy  that  tailed  away  from 
it,  was  about  twenty  yards  from  the  shore,  where 
the  trappers  stood  gazing  in  horror  at  their  com- 
panion as  he  struggled  bravely  to  maintain  his 
position  by  swimming ;  but  to  cross  those  twenty 
yards  of  gushing  water,  so  as  to  afford  him  aid, 
seemed  beyond  the  power  of  man. 

Men  bred  in  the  wilderness  are  not  usually  slow 
to  act  in  cases  of  danger  where  action  is  possible. 
Each  man  was  revolving  in  fersdd  haste  every 
plan  that  seemed  likely  to  afford  succor.  Red- 
hand's  quick  eye  observed  that  the  rocks  at  the 
edge  of  the  fall,  on  the  side  of  the  river  on  which 
they  stood,  projected  out  so  far  that  a  straight 
hne  drawn  from  the  eddy  to  the  fall  would  pass 
witliin  a  yard  of  them,  and  that,  consequently,  if 
March  would  pull  straight  across  the  stream  and 
make  vigorously  for  the  bank,  he  might  hit  the 

'  10 


110 


THE  WILD   MAN  OF   THE   WEST. 


point  of  rocks  referred  to   before  being  carried 
over. 

"  Down,  some  of  you,"  he  cried,  "  to  the  point, 
an'  be  ready  to  catch  him ;  I'll  shout  to  him  what 
to  do." 

Big  Waller  and  Gibault  darted  away.  Poor 
Bertram,  having  recovered,  remained  gazing  in 
speechless  agony  at  March,  who,  having  made 
several  fruitless  efforts  to  seize  hold  of  the  sunken 
rock,  was  evidently  growing  weaker.  Bounce 
also  remained  to  gaze,  as  if  he  had  lost  all  his' 
wonted  self-command.  \ 

«  Ho  I  March ! "  shouted  Redhand.  «  Dash  into 
the  stream  —  straight  for  me — with  all  yer  might; 
don't  be  afraid,  lad !  do  it  boldly ! "  But  March 
heard  not.  The  rush  of  water  about  him  dead- 
ened all  other  sounds. 

In  an  instant  Bounce  started  at  full  speed  up 
the  river,  plunged  into  it,  and,  descending  with 
fearful  rapidity,  swung  round  into  the  eddy  behind 
the  stone  almost  before  his  companions  could 
divine  what  he  meant  to  do. 

Even  in  that  moment  of  terrible  suspense  March 
Marston  looked  with  an  expression  of  surprise  at 
his  friend  as  he  swam  up  beside  him.  Bounce 
did  not  waste  time  or  words ;  he  merely  raised 
one  hand  for  a  second,  and,  pointing  to  the  bank 
of  the  river,  cried  —  "  Push  for  it  —  'tis  your  only 
chance ! " 

March  Marston  made  no  reply,  but  at  once 


^ 


t-^ 


^^^^>^'L 


v^ 


1 


'^ii^^^^J 


v»., 


"•    ^-^.IN 


7j-filM 


THE  NARROW   'i'.SCAPE. 


Page  110. 


!      n 


H: 


I 


! 


4 


^-U' 


:     II 


H 


'I 


T 


»:     I** 


1^     If   ■ 


i  VI 


i*'   !• 


KAR] 

obeyed ;  3 
effort,  he  1 
pared  for 
struck  out 
more  and 
fall,-— but 
on  which 
part  of  hi 
armsexten 
ing  him  fi] 
comrade's 
while  witl 
March  by 
current  vva 
party  dare( 
if  all  of  the 
forward,  ai 
him  still  m 
upon  the  < 
the  rescue, 
were  safe  i 

Poor  Be 
thanked  G 
ions,  sobbe 

For  som 
customed  t 
solemnized 
sudden  dei 
more  deepl 
their  depei 


fc-.*!'' 


KARROW  ESCAPE  FROM  SUDDEN  DEATH.      Ill 


obeyed;  yet  so  exhausted  was  he,  that,  in  the 
effort,  he  lost  strength  and  sank.  Bounce  was  pre- 
pared for  this.  He  seized  him  by  the  hair  and 
struck  out  with  the  energy  of  despair.  A  moment 
more  and  he  was  within  a  foot  of  the  brink  of  the 
fall, — but  also,  within  a  foot  of  the  point  of  rock 
on  which  Big  Waller  was  lying  at  full  length, 
part  of  his  body  overhanging  the  cataract,  his 
arms  extended,  and  Gibault  and  Hawkswing  hold- 
ing him  firmly  by  the  legs.  Bounce  caught  his 
comrade's  hand,  and  swung  close  in  to  the  bank, 
while  with  the  other  hand  he  continued  to  grasp 
March  by  the  hair  of  the  head.  The  force  of  the 
current  was  so  great,  however,  that  not  one  of  the 
party  dared  move,  and  it  seemed  for  a  moment  as 
if  all  of  them  would  be  lost,  when  Bertram  rushed 
forward,  and,  seizing  Bounce  by  the  arm  dragged 
him  still  nearer  the  bank,  and  relieved  the  strain 
upon  the  others.  Just  then,  Redhand  came  to 
the  rescue,  and  in  another  moment  the  two  men 
were  safe  upon  the  land. 

Poor  Bertram  fell  upon  his  knees,  ^nd  while  he 
thanked  God  for  the  deliverance  of  his  compan- 
ions, sobbed  like  a  little  child. 

For  some  time  the  trappers  spoke  little.  Ac- 
customed though  they  were  to  danger,  they  wer 
solemnized  by  the  recent  narrow  escape  from 
sudden  death.  Perhaps,  too,  their  minds  were 
more  deeply  affected  than  usual  with  a  sense  of 
their  dependence  upon  the  living  God,  by  the 


i|«i. 


112 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


example  and  the  heartfelt,  unrestrained  thanks* 
giving  of  Bertram.  But  men  whose  lives  are 
spent  in  the  midst  of  alarms  are  not  long  seri- 
ously atlected,  even  by  the  most  solemn  events. 
The  trappers  quickly  recurred  to  their  present 
circumstances,  which  were,  in  truth,  of  a  nature 
calculated  to  fill  them  with  anxiety,  and  cause 
them  to  bend  the  powers  of  their  quick  wits  and 
iron  energies  to  the  simple  consideration  of  how 
they  were  to  subsist  and  how  proceed  on  their 
iourney. 

"  First  of  all,"  said  Redhand,  quickly, \ "  we 
must  try  what  we  can  recover  of  our  odds  and 
ends." 

"  Right,"  cried  Bounce,  who  was  none  the 
worse  for  his  late  gallant  exertions ;  '*  the  current 
won't  stop  for  no  man ;  an*  the  bales  ain't  likely 
to  ^em  it  o'  their  own  accord  till  we're  ready  to 
look  for  'em." 

Saying  this,  he  set  off  down  the  river  at  a  run, 
followed  by  all  the  others,  including  March,  who, 
after  wringing  the  water  from  his  garments,  and 
resting  a  few  minutes,  felt  as  well  and  strong  as 
ever.  But,  alas !  their  losses  were  grievous  and 
irreparable.  Their  little  bundles  of  spare  cloth- 
ing and  trinkets  for  trading  with,  or  conciliating 
the  Indians,  were  indeed  saved,  but  their  guns 
and  all  their  ammunition  were  gone.  All  that 
remained  to  them  of  the  latter  were  the  few 
charges  of  powder  in  the  horns  suspended  round 


AN  IRRBLEVANT  QUESTION. 


113 


I 


\i 


their  iibcks,  and  a  few  slugs  and  bullets  in  thcii 
pouches.  The  only  fire-arms  left  were  Bertram's 
cavalry  pistols. 

As  for  the  canoe,  it  was  smashed  so  thor- 
oughly, that  only  a  very  few  shreds  of  bark  were 
cast  up  on  the  shore ;  but  entangled  with  these 
shreds  they  were  happy  to  find  several  of  their 
steel  traps  —  a  most  fortunate  circumstance,  as  it 
held  out  hopes  that  they  might  still  be  enabled  to 
prosecute  to  some  extent  the  main  object  of  their 
expedition. 

As  each  man  had  been  in  the  habit  of  carry- 
ing his  axe  and  knife  in  his  belt,  those  indispen- 
sable implements  of  the  backwoodsman  were 
saved;  but  the  loss  of  guns  and  ammunition 
was  a  very  severe  misfortune,  and  one  which,  for 
at  least  half  an  hour  after  every  attempt  to 
recover  them  had  failed,  cast  a  damp  over  the 
spirits  of  the  whole  party.  But  these  men  had 
neither  time  nor  inclination  to  hang  down  their 
heads  and  sigh.  Big  Waller,  being  a  careless 
individual  by  nature,  was  the  first  to  regain 
somewhat  of  his  wonted  tone  and  manner. 
Sitting  on  a  grassy  knoll,  on  which  all  the  party 
had  been  resting  for  some  time  after  their  firuit- 
les3  exertions,  in  moody  silence.  Waller  looked 
up  suddenly  and  said — "  Who's  afiraid?" 

As  no  one  happened  at  that  moment  to  be 
exhibiting  symptoms  of  terror,  and  there  was 
no  apparent  cause  for  fear,  the  question  seemed 

10* 


114 


THE  WILD   MAN   OP  THE  WEST. 


irrelevant.  We  therefore  conclude  that  the  bold 
Yankee  meant  by  it  to  imply  that  he^  at  least, 
was  not  afraid  of  circumstances^  no  matter  how 
disastrous  or  heartrending  they  might  be.  Hav- 
ing said  this,  he  looked  at  the  faces  ol  his  com- 
panions one  by  one.  The  last  face  he  looked  at 
was  that  of  Gibault  Noir,  and  it  wore  such  a 
lugubrious  aspect  of  hopeless  melancholy  that 
Big  Waller  burst  into  an  uncontrollable  fit  of 
laughter,  and  Bounce,  without  knowing  why, 
joined  them. 

"  Well,  it's  of  no  use  looking  blue  about  \it," 
said  March  Marston,  making  an  effort  to  cheer 
up ;  "  the  question  to  be  settled  now  is,  —  What's 
to  be  done  ?  " 

"  Ay,  that  is  the  question,"  observed  Bertram, 
gravely. 

"  J^all  now,  that  hein^  the  kee-westion,"  said 
Waller,  "  who's  a-goin'  to  answer  it  ?  There's 
a  chance  now,  lads ;  don't  all  speak  at  once." 

"  Right ;  thar's  wot  it  is,"  observed  Bounce, 
nodding ;  "  that's  the  feelosophy  on  it.  Wen  a 
feller's  turned  upside  down,  wot's  he  a-goin  to 
do  nixt  ?  You  can't  put  no  other  construction 
on  it  in  this  here  wurld." 

Redhand,  who  had  been  ruminating  abstract- 
edly for  some  minutes,  now  looked  round  on  his 
comrades  and  said  — 

"  Here's  a  plan  for  you,  lads.  That  outra- 
geous villain  the  Big  Snake  lives,  for  the  most 


PREPARATION  TO  ATTACK  THE  ROBBERS.   115 


part,  in  a  pretty  little  spot  just  three  days'  march 
from  this  place.  He  stole,  as  ye  all  know,  the 
horses  belongin'  to  Mr.  Bertram's  party.  Well, 
I  propose  that  we  shud  go  an'  call  on  him,  an' 
make  him  stand  an'  redeliver.  What  say  you  ?  " 
"  Agreed,"  cried  Waller,  tossing  his  cap  into  the 
air.  "  Hurrah !  "  shouted  March  Marston.  In 
one  way  or  another,  each  gave  his  consent  to  the 
plan  of  making  a  descent  upon  the  robbers  and 
causing  them  to  make  restitution. 

The  ^plans  of  bf  ^kwoodsmen,  once  formed, 
are  always  quickly  ^jut  in  execution.  They  had 
no  arrangements  to  make,  no  portmanteaus  to 
pack,  no  difficulties  in  the  way  to  overcome. 
Each  man  strapped  a  portion  of  the  remaining 
property  on  his  broad  shoulders,  and,  pushing 
into  the  forest  with  vigorous  strides,  they  were 
soon  far  frona  the  spot  where  their  late  disaster 
had  occurred,  and  gradually  drew  near  to  the 
wild  glens  and  gorges  of  the  Rocky  Mountains. 


t'     « 


116 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

A  wolfish  W.ay  of  killing  Buffalo  described.  —  Bounce  becomes  Meta- 
physical on  the  Fine  Arts.  —  Butchering  enlarged  on. — A  glorious 
Feast,  and  sketching  under  Difficulties. 

One  of  the  ancient  poets  has  said  that  wander- 
ing through  the  wild  woods  is  a  pleasant  thing. 
At  least,  if  one  of  them  has  not  said  that,  'he 
ought  to  have  said  it,  and,  certainly,  many  of 
them  must  have  thought  it,  whether  they  said  it 
or  no.  Undoubtedly,  if  future  historians  record 
faifhfuUy  all  that  has  been  said  and  written  from 
the  commencement  of  time  to  the  period  in 
which  they  flouri^^h,  they  will  embalm  the  fact 
that  at  least  one  prose  writer  of  the  present 
day  has  enunciated  that  incontrovertible  proposi- 
tion. 

But  we  go  a  step  further.  We  assert  positively 
that  wandering  through  the  wild  woods  is  a 
healthy  as  well  as  a  pleasant  sort  of  thing.  The 
free  air  of  the  mountains  and  prairies  is  reno- 
vating, the  perfumcL?  of  the  forests  are  salubrious ; 
while  the  constantly  recurring  necessity  for  leaping 
and  scrambling  is  good  for  the  muscles,  and  Ihe 
occasional  tripping  over  roots,  tumbling  into  holes, 
scratching  one's  face  and  banging  one's  shins  and 


toes  ag 

what  tr 

Furtl 

the  wil( 

had  obj 

Redhan 

Black  ( 

artist,  a] 

afternoo 

lost  thai 

hesitatio 

woods  w 

Onthi 

sixindivi 

in  a  pro: 

such  a  c( 


''•'    iS 


A  BEAUTIFUL  AFTERNOON. 


117 


toes  against  stumps,  is  good  for  —  though  Some- 
what trying  to  —  the  temper. 

Further  still — we  affirm  that  wandering  through 
the  wild  woods  is  a  funny  thing.  Any  one  who 
had  observed  our  friends  March  Marston,  and 
Redhand,  and  Bounce,  and  Big  Waller,  and 
Black  Gibault,  the  trappers,  and  Bertram  the 
ai-tist,  and  Hawksw^ing  the  Indian,  one  beautiful 
afternoon,  not  long  after  the  day  on  which  they 
lost  their  canoe,  would  have  admitted,  without 
hesitation,  that  wandering  through  the  wild 
woods  was,  among  other  things,  a  funny  thing. 

On  the  beautiful  afternoon  referred  to,  the  first 
six  individuals  above  named  were  huddled  together 
in  a  promiscuous  heap,  behind  a  small  bush,  in 
such  a  confused  way  that  an  ignorant  spectator 
might  have  supposed  that  Bounce's  head  be- 
longed to  Big  Waller's  body,  and  the  artist's 
shoulders  to  Redhand's  head,  and  their  respective 
legs  and  arms  to  no  one  individually,  but  to  all 
collectively  in  a  miscellaneous  sort  of  way.  The 
fact  was  that  the  bush  behind  which  they  were 
huddled  was  almost  too  small  to  conceal  them 
all,  and,  being  a  solitary  bush  in  the  midst  of  a 
little  plain  of  about  a  half  a  mile  in  extent,  they 
had  to  make  the  most  of  it  and  the  least  of 
themselves.  It  would  have  been  a  refreshing 
sight  for  a  moralist  to  have  witnessed  this  in- 
stance of  man  —  whose  natural  tendency  is  to 
try  to  look  big — thus  voluntarily  endeavoring  to 
lock  as  small  as  possible ! 


1 


8, 


1^ 


% 


118 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


This  bundle  of  humanity  was  staring  through 
the  bush,  with,  as  the  saying  is,  all  its  eyes,  that 
is,  with  six  pairs  of —  or  twelve  individual  —  eyes , 
and  they  were  staring  at  a  wolf —  an  enormous 
wolf  —  that  was  slowly  walking  away  from  the 
bush  behind  which  they  were  ensconced !  It  was 
a  very  singular  wolf  indeed  —  one  that  was  well 
calculated  to  excite  surprise  in  the  breast  even  of 
trappers.  There  was  something  radically  wrong 
with  that  wolf,  especially  about  the  legs.  Its  ears 
and  head  were  all  right,  and  it  had  a  tail,  a  very 
good  tail  for  a  wolf;  but  there  was  a  strange  un- 
accountable lump  under  its  neck,  and  its  fore  legs 
bent  the  w^rong  way  at  the  knees,  and  it  seemed 
to  have  long  feet  trailing  behind  its  hind  legs, 
besides  being  otherwise  misshapen.  The  mystery 
is  explained  when  we  state  that  this  wolf  was 
none  other  than  Hawks  wing,  down  on  his  hands 
and  knees,  with  a  wolf-skin  over  his  back,  and  Ber- 
tram's blunderbuss-pistol  in  his  hand.  He  was 
creeping  cautiously  toward  a  herd  of  six  or  seven 
bufi'aloes  that  chanced  to  be  feeding  quietly  there, 
quite  unconscious  of  the  near  proximity  of  so 
dangerous  an  enemy. 

"  I  hope  the  old  pistol  won't  miss  fii  /'  v/his- 
pered  Redhand,  as  he  observed  that  the  wolf 
paused,  evidently  for  the  purpose  of  examining 
the  priming. 

"  I  hope,"  added  Bounce,  "  that  the  Injun 
won't  miss  his  aim.     He  be'nt  used  to  pistols." 


WOLVES  ENEMIES  TO  BUFFALOES. 


119 


**  Never  fear,"  said  March,  with  a  quiet  grin. 
*'  If  he  aims  within  a  yard  o'  the  brute  he's  sure 
to  hit,  for  I  loaded  the  old  blunderbuss  myself, 
an'  it's  cramnied  nigh  to  the  muzzle  with  all  sortg 
o'  things,  includin'  stones." 

At  this  Big  Waller  stared,  and  said,  enriphali- 
cally,  "  It'll  bust !  "  Bertram  felt  and  looked  un- 
easy, but  Bounce  shook  his  head. 

"  Them  old  things,"  said  he, "  never  bust.  I've 
been  forty  years,  off  an'  on,  in  these  parts,  an' 
I've  always  obsarved  that  old  irons  o'  that  sort 
donH  bust ;  cause  why  ?  they'd  ha'  busted  w'en 
they  wos  new,  if  they'd  bin  goin'  to  bust  at  all. 
The  fact  is  they  canH  bust  They're  too  useless 
even  for  that." 

"  How  comes  it,"  inquired  Bertram,  "  that  the 
buffaloes  are  not  afraid  of  a  wolf  ?  I  have  been 
led  to  understand  that  wolves  are  the  inveterate 
enemies  of  buffaloes,  and  that  they  often  attack 
them." 

To  this  question  March,  whose  head  was  in 
close  proximity  to  that  of  the  artist,  replied  — 

"  Ay,  the  sneakin'  brutes  will  attack  a  single 
wounded  or  worn-out  old  buffalo,  when  it  falls 
behind  the  herd,  and  when  there  are  lots  o'  their 
low-minded  comrades  along  with  'em ;  but  the 
buffaloes  don't  care  a  straw  for  a  single  wolf,  as 
ye  may  see  now  if  ye  pay  attention  to  what 
Hawkswing's  doin'." 

Bertram  became  silent  oi    observing  that  the 


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120 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST, 


Indian  had  approached  to  within  about  pistol- 
range  of  the  buffalo  without  attracting  particular 
attention,  and  that  he  was  in  the  act  of  taking 
aim  at  its  shoulder.  Immediately  a  sharp  click 
caused  the  buffa'o  to  look  up  and  apprised  the 
on -lookers  that  the  faithless  weapon  had  missed 
fire;  again  Hawkswing  pulled  the  trigger  and 
with  a  like  result.  By  this  time  the  buffalo,  hav- 
ing become  alarmed,  started  off  at  a  run.  Once 
more  the  click  was  heard ;  then  the  wolf,  rising 
on  its  hind  legs,  coolly  walked  back  to  its  com- 
rades behind  the  bush,  while  the  herd  of  buffaloes, 
galloped  furiously  away. 

The  Indian  solemnly  stalked  up  to  Bertram  and 
presented  the  pistol  to  him  with  such  an  expres- 
sion of  grave  contempt  on  his  countenance  that 
March  Marston  burst  into  an  irresistible  fit  of 
laughter ;  thereby  relieving  his  own  feelings  and 
giving,  as  it  were,  direction  to  those  of  the  others, 
most  of  whom  were  in  the  unpleasant  condition 
of  being  undecided  whether  to  laugh  or  cry. 

To  miss  a  buffalo  was  not  indeed  a  new,  or  in 
ordinary  circumstances,  a  severe  misfortune ;  but 
to  miss  one  after  having  been  three  days  without 
food,  with  the  exception  of  a  little  unpalatable 
wolf's  flesh,  was  not  an  agreeable,  much  less  an 
amusing,  incident. 

"  I'll  tell  ye  wot  it  is,"  said  Bounce,  slapping 
his  thigh  violently  and  emphasizing  his  words 
as  if  to  imply  that  nobody  had  ever  told  anybody 


RESULT  OP  A  LONG  FAST. 


121 


"  wot "  any  thing  "  wos  "  since  the  world  began 
up  to  that  time,  *^F11  tell  ye  wot  it  is,  I  won't 
stand  this  sort  o'  thing  no  longer." 

"  It  is  most  unfortunate,"  sighed  poor  Bertram 
who  thoroughly  identified  himself  with  his  pistol, 
and  felt  much  ashamed  of  it  as  if  the  fault  had 
been  his  own. 

"  Wall,  lads,"  observed  Big  Waller,  drawing 
forth  his  j)ipe  as  the  only  source  of  comfort  in 
these  trying  circumstances,  and  filling  it  with 
scrupulous  care,  "  it  ain't  of  no  use  gettin'  grow- 
oivly  about  it,  I  guess.  There  air  more  buffaloes 
then  them  wot's  gone ;  mayhap  we'll  spliflicate 
one  before  we  gits  more  waspisher." 

It  may,  perhaps,  be  necessary  to  explain  that 
Wallers  last  w^ord  referred  to  the  unusually 
small  waists  of  the  party,  the  result  of  a  pretty 
long  fast. 

"  I'll  tell  ye  what  it  is,"  said  March,  advancing 
toward  Bounce  with  a  swagger  and  drawing  his 
hunting-knife, "  I  quite  agree  with  Waller's  senti- 
ments. I  don't  mean  to  allow  myself  to  get  any 
more  waspisher,  so  I  vote  that  we  cut  Bounce 
up  and  have  a  feed.    What  say  you,  comrades  ?  " 

*'  All  right,"  replied  Bounce,  laying  bare   his 

broad   chest   as  if  to  receive   the  knife,  "  only, 

p'raps,  ye'U  allow  me  to  eat  the  first  slice   off" 

myself  afore  ye  begin,  cause  I  couldn't  well  have 

my  share  afterwards,  d'ye  see  ?    But,  now  I  think 

on't,  I'd  be  rather  a  tough  moiseL    Young  meat's 

11 


*  i 


{I  'I 


i- 


i  ir  M 


122 


THE  WILD   MAN  OP  THE   WEST. 


gin'raLy  thought  the  tenderest.     Wot  say  ye  to 
cuttin'  up  March  first,  an'  tryin'  me  nixt  ?  " 

"  If  you'll  only  wait,  lads,"  said  Redhand,  "till 
Mr.  Bertram  gits  a  new  flint  into  his  pistol,  we'll 
shoot  the  victim  instead  o'  cuttin'  him  up.  It'll 
be  quicker,  you  know.'* 

"  Hah !  non,"  cried  Gibault,  leaping  a  few 
inches  off*  the  ground,  under  the  impulse  of  a 
new  idea,  "  I  vill  show  to  you  vat  ve  vill  do.  Ve 
vill  each  cot  hoff"  von  finger.  Redhand,  he  vill 
begin  vid  de  thomb,  et  so  on  till  it  come  to  me, 
and  I  vill  cot  hoff"  njine  leet  finger.  Each\vill 
devour  the  finger  of  de  oder,  an'  so  ve  shall  have 
von  dinner  vidout  committing  mordor  —  ha!  vat 
say  you  ?  " 

As  Bertram  had  by  this  time  arranged  the  lock 
of  his  pistol  and  reprimed  it,  the  hungry  travel- 
lers resumed  their  weary  march  without  coming 
to  a  decision  upon  this  delicate  point. 

It  happened  that,  during  the  last  few  days, 
the  land  over  which  they  travelled  being  some- 
what barren,  small  game  had  become  scarce,  and 
the  large  game  could  not  be  approached  near 
enough  to  be  shot  with  such  weapons  as  the 
artist's  antiquated  pistols ;  and  as  the  party  pos- 
sessed nothing  better  in  the  shape  of  a  projectile 
they  had  failed  to  procure  supplies.  They  had 
now,  however,  again  reached  a  rich  country,  and 
had  sucr^eeded  in  trappings  large  wolf,  under  the 
skin  of  which  Hawks  wing  had  made,  as  we  have 


A  MOST   LOVELY   SCENE. 


123 


Been,  an  unsuccessful  effort  to  shoot  a  buffalo. 
Soon  after  this  failure  the  party  came  to  a  ridge 
of  gravelly  soil  that  stretched  across  the  plain  like 
a  wave. 

The  plain,  or  smaU  prairie,  to  which  we  refer 
was  in  the  midst  of  a  most  lovely  scene.  The 
earth  was  carpeted  with  rich  groen  grass,  in 
which  the  wild  flowers  nestled  liko  gems.  The 
ground  was  undulating,  yet  so  varied  in  its  form- 
ations that  the  waves  and  mounds  did  not  pre- 
vent the  eyes  of  the  travellers  ranging  over  a  vast 
tract  of  country,  even  when  they  were  down 
among  the  hollows ;  and,  when  they  had  ascended 
the  backs  of  the  ridges,  they  could  cast  a  wide 
glance  over  a  scene  of  mingled  plain  and  wood, 
lake  and  river,  such  as  is  never  seen  except  in 
earth's  remotest  wilds,  where  man  has  not  at- 
tempted to  adorn  the  face  of  Nature  with  the 
exuberances  of  his  own  wonderful  invention. 

Far  away  on  the  horizon  the  jagged  forms  and 
snowy  peaks  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  rose  clear 
and  sharp  against  the  sky.  For  some  days  past 
the  trappers  had  sighted  this  stupendous  "  back- 
bone "  of  the  far  west,  yet  so  slowly  did  they 
draw  near  that  March  Marston  and  Bertram,  in 
their  impatience,  almost  believed  they  were  a 
range  of  phantom  hills,  which  ever  receded  from 
the  in  as  they  advanced. 

On  reaching  the  summit  of  the  gravelly  ridge, 
Redhand  looked  along  it  with  an  earnest,  search 
ing  gaze. 


124 


THE   WILD   MAN  OF   TUB   WEST. 


"  Wot's  ado  now  ?  "  inquired  Bounce. 

"  There  ought  to  be  prairir-hens  here,"  replied 
the  other. 

"  Oh !  do  stand  still,  just  as  you  are,  men,'' 
cried  Bertram,  enthusiastically  flopping  down  on 
a  stone  and  drawing  forth  his  sketch-book, 
"  you'll  make  such  a  capital  foreground." 

The  trappers  smiled  and  took  out  their  pipes, 
having  now  learned  from  experience  that  smoking 
was  not  detrimental  to  a  sketch  —  rather  the 
reverse. 

"  Cut  away,  Gibault,  said  Bounce,  "  an'  take 
a  look  at  the  edge  o'  yon  bluff  o'  poplars  and 
willows.  I've  obsarved  that  prairie-hens  is  fond 
o'  sich  places.  You'll  not  be  missed  out  o'  the 
pictur',  bein'  only  a  small  objict,  d'ye  see,  besides 


an  Off! 


one. 


» 


The  jovial  Canadian  acknowledged  the  com- 
pliment with  a  smile  and  obeyed  the  command, 
leaving  his  companions  to  smoke  their  pipes  and 
gaze  with  quiet  complacency  upon  the  magnifi- 
cent scene.  Doubtless,  much  of  their  satisfaction 
resulted  from  the  soothing  influence  of  tobacco 
on  their  empty  stomachs. 

"  I  say,"  whispered  Waller,,  removing  his  pipe 
and  puffing  from  his  lips  a  large  cloud  of  smoke, 
which  rolled  upwards  in  the  form  of  a  white  ring, 
"  I  say.  Bounce,  I  guess  it's  past  my  comprehen- 
sion what  he  means  by  a  foreground.  How  doeg 
we  make  a  capital  foreground  ?  " 


CONVEKSATION  ABOUT  A  FOREGROUND.   125 


Bounce  looked  at  bis  companion  in  silence  for 
a  few  seconds ;  then  he  removed  his  pipe,  pursed 
his  lips,  frowned  heavily,  looked  at  the  ground, 
and  repeated  slowly,  "  How  does  we  make  a 
capital  foreground  ?  " 

Waller  nodded. 

"  Ay,  that's  it."  Bounce  resumed  his  pipe  for 
a  few  seconds,  and  then  said  with  an  air  of  the 
utmost  profundity,  — 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  '* 

«  No,  I  don't." 

«  Wot  ?     Nothin'  about  it  wotiver  ?  " 

"  Nothin'  wotsomediver.'* 

"  Hm,  that's  okard,"  said  Bounce,  once  more 
applying  to  his  pipe  ;  "  'cause,  d'ye  see,  it's  most 
'orrible  difficult  to  explain  a  thing  to  a  feller  as 
don't  know  nothin'  wotiver  about  it.  If"  ye  only 
had  the  smallest  guess  o' " 

"  Wall,  come,  I  does  know  somethin^  about  it," 
interrupted  Waller. 

"  Wot's  that  ?  "  inquired  Bounce,  brightening 
up. 

"  I  calc'late  that  I  knows  for  certain  it  ain't 
got  no  place  wotever  in  my  onderstandin'." 

"  Hah !  "  exclaimed  Bounce.  "  Come,  then, 
I'll  do  my  best  for  to  explain  it  t'ye.  Here's  wot 
it  is.     D'ye  see  Mr.  Bertram,  there  ?  " 

«  Yes  I  does." 

*  An'  d'ye  see  yerself?" 

11* 


>,i, '  ii  If. 


i 


126 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


"  Wall,  I  does,'*  replied  Waller,  looking  <;om- 
placently  down  at  his  huge  limbs. 

"  Good ;  then  d'ye  see  the  ground  over  there  ? " 
continued  Bounce,  pointing  with  his  pipe  to  the 
Rocky  Mountains. 

Waller  nodded. 

"  Now  then,"  said  Bounce,  in  those  deep  ear- 
nest tones  with  which  men  usually  attempt  to 
probe  the  marrow  of  some  desperately  knotty 
question ;  "  Now,  then,  when  Mr.  Bertram's  a 
drawin*  of,  an'  tries  to  look  at  the  ground  over 
there,  you  an'  me  comes  before  the  ground,, d'ye 
see ;  an'  so  we're,  as  ye  may  say,  before •g'rounds. 
But  men  wot  studies  human  natur'  an'  lang- 
"widges,  d'ye  see,  comes  for  to  know  that  words 
is  always  gittin  onnecessary  bits  chopped  oif 
'em  —  sometimes  at  one  end,  sometimes  at 
t'other.  So  they  tuck  off  the  B,  d'ye  see,  an' 
made  it  foreground,  and  that's  how  we  come  to 
be  foregrounds." 

"  Oh ! "  said  Waller,  with  the  vacant  air  of  a 
man  who  feels  himself  as  wise  at  the  termina- 
tion as  he  was  at  the  beginning  of  an  explana- 
tion. 

"  Yes,"  resumed  Bounce,  "  that's  how  it  is.  1 
must  confess,  for  my  part,  that  I  don't  'xactly 
see  the  advantage  o'  us  in  that  light.  I  should 
ha'  thought  it  would  ha'  been  better  to  make  us 
stand  to  one  side,  d'ye  see,  and  let  him  see  how 
the   land  lies.      But  there's   no   accountin'   foi 


gibault's  discovery  of  buffaloes.      127 

taste  in  this  wurld  —  I've  obsarved  that  iver  since 
I  was  three  fut  two." 

Having  delivered  himself  of  this  graphic  expo- 
sition of  an  abstruse  subject,  Bounce  relapsed 
into  silence,  and  the  whole  party  continued  for 
some  minutes  in  a  profound  reverie.  From  this 
felicitous  condition  they  were  awakened  by  tlio 
sudden  appearance  of  Black  Gibault,  who  darted 
out  of  the  poplar  bluff  and  made  toward  them 
at  the  top  of  his  speed.  He  uttered  no  cry,  but, 
on  coming  near  enough  to  permit  of  his  features 
being  clearly  seen,  it  was  observed  that  his  eyes 
were  eagerly  wide  open,  and  that  his  mouth  was 
engaged  in  the  formation  of  words.  A  second 
or  two  more,  and  he  was  near  enough  to  be 
heard  uttering  the  w^ord  "  buffaloes  "  in  a  hoarse 
whisper. 

"  Ho !  boy,  wot  is't  ?  "  cried  Bounce,  in  an 
equally  hoarse  whisper. 

"Ba  —  buffaloes,  hah!  buffaloes,"  cried  Gi- 
bault, panting  violently  as  he  came  up ;  "  Where 
be  de  leet  gun?  Ho!  Monsieur  Bertram,  out 
vidit." 

"  Where  saw  ye  them  ?  "  asked  Redhand,  seiz- 
ing the  two  pistols,  and  examining  the  priming. 

"  Jist  oder  side  of  de  bluff.  Ver'  close  to  de 
bushes.  Queek !  queek !  vite !  mon  gar9on,  you 
is  so  drefful  slow." 

The  latter  part  of  this  sentence  was  addressed 
!x)  Hawkswing,  who  was  quietly  putting  on  hia 


H 

I 


II  iiJi 


128 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


wolf-skin.  Although  too  slow  for  the  hasty  spirit 
of  Gibault,  the  Indian  was  quick  enough  for  all 
useful  purposes.  In  three  minutes  he  was  in  the 
clump  of  poplar  trees  behind  which  the  buffaloes 
were  reported  to  be  feeding,  and  in  another 
minute  he  was  out  upon  the  plain  creeping  to 
ward  his  victims,  while  the  rest  of  the  party 
were  again  huddled  together  behind  a  bush, 
looking  on  with  deep  interest  and  breathless 
attention. 

Gradually  and  slowly  the  Indian  crept  toward 
the  buffaloes,  pausing  and  snuffing  about  from 
time  to  time  as  if  he  were  a  veritable  wolf  in 
search  of  something  to  eat.  At  last  he  had  ap- 
proached near  enough  to  the  herd  to  attract  their 
attention,  but  scarcely  near  enough  to  make  sure 
of  bringing  one  down.  The  huge  unwieldy 
creatures  looked  up  inquiringly  for  a  moment, 
but,  seeing  only  a  solitary  enemy,  they  scorned 
to  take  further  notice  of  him,  and  went  on 
feeding. 

Hawkswing  paused  within  a  few  yards  of  the 
side  of  a  fat  sleek  animal,  and  slowly  raised  his 
pistol.  The  trappers  held  their  breath,  and 
Berlram  uttered  a  low  groan  of  anxiety.  One 
moment  more  and  a  white  puff  was  followed  by 
a  loud  crack  and  a  beUow,  as  the  horror-stricken 
buffaloes  tossed  up  their  heels  and  fled  wildly 
from  the  spot,  leaving  one  of  their  number  in  the 
agonies  of  death  upon  the  plain. 


m'i: 


THE  WOLF   AVD  THE   BUFFALOES. 


I'liKi'  128. 


i  V 


i^ 


SUGGESTIVE   OF  A   BUTCHER'S   SHOP.  129 

The  knife  of  the  Indian  hastened  the  end,  and 
with  a  rush  and  a  yell  of  delight  the  whole  party 
fell  upon  the  luckless  animal. 

It  was  a  wonderful  sight  to  see,  the  way  in 
which  these  experienced  men  flayed  and  cut  up 
that  buffalo !  Hawkswing,  without  taking  time 
to  remove  his  wolf-skin  covering,  commenced 
upon  the  head  and  speedily  cut  out  the  tongue  — 
a  more  difficult  operation  than  inexperienced 
persons  would  suppose.  Red  hand  and  Bounce 
began  at  the  shoulders,  and  Big  Waller  and 
Gibault  fell  to  work  upon  tht  flanks.  March 
Marston  seized  his  axe,  and  hastening  into  the 
bluff*  felled  a  dead  pine  and  kindled  a  fire.  As 
for  Bertram,  he  sat  down  to  sketch  the  whole 
with  a  degree  of  prompt  facility  and  gusto,  that 
showed  the  habit  had  become  second  nature  to 
him. 

The  way  in  which  these  men  wielded  their 
bloody  knives,  flayed  and  sliced,  dismembered 
and  divided  that  buffalo,  is  past  belief —  almost 
beyond  description.  Each  man  threw  off  his 
capote  ard  tucked  up  his  shirt-sleeves  to  the 
elbows,  and  very  soon  each  had  on  a  pair  of 
bright  red  gauntlets.  And  the  bloody  appear- 
ance of  Hawkswing's  mouth  proved  that  he  had 
been  anticipating  the  feast  with  a  few  tidbits 
raw.     The  others  were  more  patient. 

In  very  nearly  as  short  a  time  as  it  takes  to 
tell,  the  buffalo  was  converted  into  a  mass  ol 


i 


130 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


fragments  that  were  powerfully  suggestive  of  a 
butcher's  shop,  and  the  trappers  adjourned  to  a 
neighboring  rivulet  to  wash  their  liands  and 
arms. 

"  Now,  ril  tell  ye  wot  it  is,"  observed  Bounce, 
while  thus  engaged ;  "  I  means  for  to  have  a 
most  awful  blow  out,  and  then  go  to  sleep  for 
four-and-twenty  hours  on  end." 

"  Ditto,"  remarker"  Big  Waller  with  a  nod;  to 
which  old  Redhand  replied  with  a  chuckle. 

"  An'  who  be  go  to  vatch,  tink  you  ? "  in- 
quired Gibault,  as  they  all  returned  to  the  caiTip. 
"  Prehaps  de  Injuns  look  out  for  us  —  vat  den  ?  " 

"  Ah,  ye  may  well  ask  that,  Gibault,"  said 
Redhand ;  "  the  fact  is  I've  been  thinkin'  that 
now  we're  drawin'  near  to  enemies  we  must 
begin  to  keep  better  watch  at  night,  and  to  burn 
small  fires  o'  dry  wood,  lest  the  smoke  should 
tell  a  tale  upon  us." 

"  Oh,  don't  talk  bam,  old  feller,"  said  Waller ; 
"  I  guess  we'll  have  watchin'  enough  w'en  we  gits 
into  the  mountains.     Let's  take  it  easy  here." 

"  We'll  have  one  good  blow  out  to-night,  any- 
how," cried  March  Marston,  heaving  a  fresh  pile 
of  logs  on  the  already  roaring  fire.  '^  Now,  Mr. 
Bertram,  do  give  up  your  scratchin'  to-night,  and 
et's  see  what  you  can  do  in  the  eatin'  way.  I'm 
sure  you've  fasted  long  enough,  at  least  for  the 
good  o'  your  health." 

The  poor  artist  had  indeed  fasted  long  enough 


THE  PARTY  PAKTAKE  OF  A  GOOD  SUPPER.   131 


to  give  to  his  naturally  thin  and  lank  figure  a 
thread-papery  appearance  that  might  have  sug- 
gested the  idea  that  he  was  evaporating.  He 
smiled  good-humoredly  when  March  Marston, 
who  had  now  become  rather  familiar  with  him, 
shut  up  his  sketch-book  and  set  him  forcibly 
down  before  the  fire,  all  round  which  steaks  and 
hunks  of  meat  were  roasting  and  grilling,  and 
sending  forth  an  odor  that  would  have  rendered 
less  hungry  men  impatient  of  delay.  But  they 
had  not  to  wait  long.  Each  man  sat  before  his 
respective  steak  or  hunk,  gazing  eagerly,  as,  skew- 
ered on  the  end  of  a  splinter  of  wood,  his  supper 
roasted  hissingly.  When  the  side  next  the  fire 
was  partially  cooked,  he  turned  it  round  and 
fell  to  work  upon  that  while  the  other  side  was 
roasting  —  thus  the  cooking  and  the  eating  went 
on  together. 

After  a  considerable  time  symptoms  of  satiety 
began  to  appear,  in  the  shape  of  an  occasional 
remark.  Soon  Bounce  uttered  a  deep  sigh,  and 
announced  his  belief  that,  having  taken  the  edge 
off  his  appetite,  it  was  time  to  begin  with  the 
marrow-bones.  Thereupon,  with  the  marrow- 
bones he  began,  and  his  example  was  quickly 
followed  by  his  companions.  There  was  a  bnsi* 
ness-like  steadiness  of  purpose  in  the  way  in 
which  that  meal  was  eaten,  and  in  the  whole 
of  the  procedure  connected  with  it,  that  would 
iiave  been  highly  diverting  to  a  disinterested 
spectator. 


;■  H 


132 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


When  the  feast  was  concluded,  the  pipes  made 
their  appearance  as  a  matter  of  course  ;  and  when 
these  were  lighted,  and  in  full  blast,  the  trappers 
found  leisure  to  look  round  upon  each  other's 
faces  with  expressions  of  benignity. 

"  Dat  be  a  monstrobolly  goot  supper,"  re- 
marked Gibault  Noir.  Gibault  spoke  w^ith  an 
effort.  It  was  quite  plain  that  moderation  was 
a  virtue  that  he  did  not  possess  in  a  high  degree 
—  at  least,  not  on  the  present  occasion.  - 

"  You'll  need  a '  monstrobolly '  good  sleep  arter 
it,"  observed  Bounce,  quietly.  "  ^ 

"  You  will,  jist,"  said  Waller ;  "  an'  so  will  this 


leal- 


j> 


coon, 

Big  Waller  was  going  to  have  "  calculated," 
according  to  custom  ;  but  sleepiness  overpowered 
him  at  the  moment,  and  he  terminated  the  word 
with  a  yawn  of  such  ferocity  that  it  drew  from 
Redhand  a  remark  of  doubt  as  to  whether  his 
jaws  could  stand  such  treatment  long. 

Every  member  of  that  party  seemed  to  be  quite 
contented  and  amiable,  but  no  one  showed  much 
inclination  to  talk,  and  ere  many  minutes  had 
passed,  half  their  number  were  under  their  blan 
kf5ts,  their  heads  pillowed  on  their  bundles  and 
their  eyes  sealed  in  sleep.  A  few  minutes  later, 
and  Big  Waller,  sinking  into  a  very  sprawling 
and  reckless  posture,  with  his  back  against  the 
ptem  of  a  large  cotton-tree,  dropped  into  a  state 
of  slumber  with  his  pipe  hanging  gracefully  from 
bib  lips. 


BERTRAM  AND  THE  YANKEE'S  PORTRAIT.  133 

This  seemed  so  picturesque  to  Theodore  Ber- 
tram, who  sat  immediately  opposite  to  the  Yan- 
kee, on  the  other  side  of  the  fire,  that  he  pulled 
out  his  sketch-book  and  began  enthusiastically 
to  sketch  by  the  flickering  light.  While  he  wag 
thus  occupied,  the  others  lay  down,  one  by  one, 
and  he  was  left,  at  last,  the  only  waking  member 
of  the  camp. 

But  Theodore  Bertram  was  human,  and  this  is 
*;antarnount  to  saying  that  he  .was  not  capable  of 
ignoring  the  somnolent  influences  of  human  na- 
ture. To  his  own  extreme  surprise  his  head  fell 
forward  with  an  abrupt  nod  while  he  was  engaged 
in  the  act  of  depicting  Big  Waller's  nose,  and  he 
found,  on  resuming  work  with  an  imbecile  smile 
at  what  he  deemed  his  weakness,  that  that  em- 
ber of  the  Yankee's  face  was  at  least  two  feet 
long,  and  was  formed  after  the  pattern  of  a  some- 
what irregular  Bologna  sausage.  India-rubber 
quickly  put  this  to  rights,  however,  and  he  set  to 
again  with  renewed  zeal.  Throwing  back  his 
head,  and  looking  up  as  if  for  inspiration,  his 
wide-awake  fell  off",  and  it  required  a  sudden  and 
powerful  effort  to  preven.  his  head  and  shoulders 
falling  in  the  same  direction. 

Having  replaced  his  hat  and  shaken  himself  a 
little,  the  persevering  man  once  more  applied  him- 
self to  his  task  of  finishing  the  Yankee's  portrait, 
which,  to  say  tru^h,  now  presented  a  variety  of 

12 


ri 


V 


I 


I' 


.-*r . .— ^ 


X34 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


jaggfid  and  picturesque  outlines,  that  «a»ored 
more  of  caricature  than  any  thing  Bertram  had 
ever  accomplished.  For  some  time  the  pencil 
moved  upon  the  paper  pretty  steadily,  and  the 
artist  was  beginning  to  congratulate  himself  on 
his  success,  when,  to  his  horror,  he  observed  that 
the  tree  against  which  the  Yankee  leaned  was  in 
the  act  of  falling  over  to  the  right.  The  same 
instant  he  received  a  shock  upon  the  left  side, 
and  awoke  to  find  that  he  had  fallen  heavily 
upon  poor  Gibault's  breast,  and  that  Waller  and 
his  tree  were  in  statu  quo.  But  Gibault  cared  not; 
he  was  too  deeply  intent  upon  sleeping  to  mind 
such  trifles. 

Bertram  smiled  meekly  as  ho  resumed  his  sit- 
ting posture ;  but  the  smile  faded  and  was  re- 
placed by  a  gaze  of  mute  astonishment  as  he 
observed  that  he  had  depicted  Waller's  right  eye 
upon  his  chin,  close  beneath  his  nose!  There 
seemed  to  be  some  sort  of  magic  here,  and  he  felt 
disposed  to  regard  the  thing  in  the  light  of  some 
serious  optical  illusion,  when,  on  closer  inspec- 
tion, he  discovered  Waller's  mouth  drawn  alto- 
gether beyond  the  circle  of  his  countenance,  a 
foot  or  so  above  his  head,  on  the  stem  of  the  tree 
against  which  he  leaned.  This  changed  the  cur- 
rent of  his  thoughts  and  led  him  to  b  slieve  that  he 
must  be  dreaming,  under  which  impression  he 
fell  back  and  went  to  sleep. 


LUDICROUS  POSITION  OF  BERTRAM. 


135 


Of  course,  Bertrcam  recollected  nothing  after 
(hat;  but  when  Gibault  awoke  next  morning, 
he  found  him  lying  on  his  back,  with  his  feet 
in  the  ashes  of  the  extinct  fire,  his  tall  brig- 
andish wide-awake  perfectly  flat  beneath  his 
shoulders,  and  his  sketch-book  lying  open  across 
his  face. 


r 


m 


I 


I 


i 


ir 


136 


THE  WILD   MAN  OF  THE   WEST. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

A  Cache  discovered.  —  Bertram  becomes  valorous.  —  Failure  fol 
lows,  and  a  brief  Skirmish,  Flight,  and  Separation  are  the  Ke 
suits. 

The  sun  was  high,  scattering  the  golden  clouds 
in  the  bright  sky,  gilding  the  hill-tops,  flooding 
the  plains,  vivifying  vegetable  life,  and  gladden- 
ing the  whole  animal  creation,  when  on  the  fol- 
lowing morning,  our  wearied  trappers  raised 
their  heads  and  began  to  think  of  breakfast. 

To  do  these  trappers  justice,  however,  we  must 
add  that  their  looks,  when  Ihey  became  wide 
enough  awake  to  take  full  cognizance  of  the 
scenery,  indicated  the  presence  of  thoughts  and 
emotions  of  a  more  elevated  character,  though, 
from  the  nature  of  their  training  from  infancy, 
they  wanted  words  to  express  their  feelings. 

It  was  otherwise  with  Bertram  and  March 
Marston.  Their  exclamations,  the  instant  they 
arose,  showed  that  both  their  hearts  were  keenly 
aHve  to  the  good  and  the  beautiful  which  sur- 
rounded them  —  and  their  tongues  were  not  alto- 
gether incapable  of  uttering  the  praise  of  Him 
who  clothes  so  gorgeously  the  lovely  earth  and 
peoples  it  with  millions   of  happy  creatures  — 


EARNEST  CONVERSATION  INTERRUPTED.   137 


yes,  happy  creatures,  for,  despite  the  exijtence 
of  death,  and  sin,  and  sorrow  everywhere,  and 
the  croaking  of  misanthropes,  there  is  much, 
very  much,  of  pure,  overflowing  happiness  here 
below. 

"  Come,  March  —  Mr.  Bertram,  time  presses," 
said  Redhand,  interrupting  the  two  friends  in  the 
midst  of  an  earnest  conversation  ;  "  we've  got  a 
long  day  before  us,  and,  mayhap,  a  fight  with 
redskins  at  the  end  o't,  so  it  behoves  us  to  make 
a  good  breakfast  and  set  off"  as  soon  as  we  can. 
We're  1  ite  enough  already." 

"  Ah,  Redhand !  "  exclaimed  March,  "  you're  a 
terrible  fellow  for  duty  an'  business,  an'  all  that 
sort  o'  thing.  It's  alvvays  'time  to  be  off,'  or 
'time  to  think  o'  this  or  that,'  or  'we  mustn't 
put  off,'  with  you.  Why  won't  ye  let  us  take 
a  breathin'  spell  once  in  a  way  to  enjoy  ourselves, 
eh?" 

The  old  man  pointed  to  the  sun  — "  You've 
enjoyed  yourself  late  enough  to-day,  han't 
ye?" 

"  Come,  March,  you're  in  a  fault-finding  hu- 
mor this  morning,"  said  Bertram,  as  th  y  walked 
toward  the  camp.  "  Let's  enjoy  ourselves  in 
spite  of  circumstances.  Do  you  know,  I  hold  it 
to  be  exceedingly  wise  as  well  as  philosophical, 
to  make  the  best  of  things  at  all  times." 

"Do  you?"  exclaimed  March,  in  a  tone  of 
affected  surprise;  "now  that's  odd.     You  must 

12* 


..& 


ii 


138 


THE   WILD   MAN   OP  THE  WEST. 


I 


be  a  rcnl  clever  fellow  to  have  made  np  your  mind 
on  thai  point.  But  somehow  or  other  I'm  hi- 
c-lined  to  tliink  tliat  moat  o'  the  trappers  here- 
abonls  are  as  wise  as  yourseir  on  it,  thoiigli, 
mayhap,  they  don't  say  it  just  in  the  same  words. 
There's  Waller,  now,  as  '11  tell  ye  that  when  he 
'  can't  help  it,  he  guesses  he'll  jist  grin  an'  bear  it.' 
And  there's  an  old  Irish  trapper  that's  bin  ir  the 
mountains  nigh  forty  years  now,  an'  who's  alive 
at  this  (^\\y  —  if  he  beant  dead  —  that  used  to  say 
to  himself  when  ill  luck  came  upon  him — *Now, 
Terence,  be  aisy,  boy,  an'  av  ye  can't  be  aisy,  be 
as  aisy  as  ye  can.'  So  you  see,  Mr.  Bertram, 
we  have  got  a  few  sparks  of  wisdom  in  these 
diggin's." 

"  Now,  then,  stop  yer  feelosophy,"  cried 
Bounce,  hitching  his  shoulders  so  as  to  induce 
his  light  load  to  take  up  a  more  accommodating 
position.  "  Ye  didn't  use  to  be  a  slow  feller, 
March ;  wot's  to  do  ?  Ye  ain't  a  goin'  to  cave 
in  'cause  we're  gettin'  nigh  the  redskins,  are 
ye?" 

To  this  March  deigned  no  reply,  but,  swinging 
his  bundle  over  his  shoulder,  set  off  at  a  pace  that 
speedily  left  his  laughing  comrades  far  behind. 
When,  in  the  course  of  an  hour  after,  they  over- 
took him,  he  was  discovered  lying  flat  on  his 
back,  with  his  head  resting  on  his  bundle,  and 
smoking  his  pipe  with  an  air  of  perfect  satis iac- 
tlon. 


uediiand's  discovery. 


139 


During  tlie  conrae  of  Ihtit  djiy  Iho  trappera 
walked  Jil)()ut  thirty  miles.  Toward  the  al'ter- 
noon  they  came  to  a  large  river,  along  Ihe  banks 
of  which  they  pursued  Iheh*  way,  led  by  Kedhand, 
who  seemed  as  familiar  with  the  country  as  if  he 
hud  dwelt  there  from  infancy.  The  old  trapper's 
kindly  visage  was  lighted  up  with  a  smile  of 
recognition,  ever  and  anon,  when  some  new  and 
striking  feature  of  the  landscape  opened  up  to 
view,  as  if  he  had  met  with  and  were  greeting 
some  personal  friend.  He  spoke  occasionally  in  a 
low  tone  to  March,  who  kept  usually  close  to  his 
sid( ,  and  pointed  to  spots  whicl  were  associated 
in  his  memory  with  adventures  of  various  kinds. 
But  Redhand's  observations  were  few.  He  pre- 
ferred to  listen  to  the  conversation  of  his  com- 
rades, as  they  p!odded  steadily  along,  enlivening 
their  march  with  many  an  anecdote  and  legend. 

At  last  Redhand  called  a  halt,  and  gazed  in- 
quiringly around  him,  as  if  in  search  of  some 
object. 

"  Wot's  up  ?  "  inquired  Bounce,  earnestly. 

"  It  was  hereabouts,  somewhere,"  muttered 
Redhand,  to  himself  rather  than  to  his  friend , 
then  added  quickly,  as  he  threw  down  his  pack, 
"  Ay,  there  it  is  —  never  touched.  Now  thats 
what  I  call  luck." 

«  Wofs  luck  ?  "  inquired  WaUer. 

"  Ah,  dat  is  de  keevestion,"  added  Gibault,  with 
a  look  of  surprise. 


ii!. 


-.....^••»- 


140 


THE  WILD   MAN   OF  THE  WEST. 


'•  You  must  know,  lads,"  said  Redhand,  turning 
to  his  comrades,  who  observed  his  movements 
with  considerable  astonishment ;  you  must  know, 
lads,  there  was  an  old  chap  who  once  trapped 
beavers  up  in  them  parts " 

"  Oh !  it's  a  hanikdot,"  interrupted  Big  Waller, 
"  then  I  guess  we'd  as  well  sot  down."  So  saying, 
he  seated  himself  on  his  bundle  and,  as  a  matter 
of  course,  proceeded  to  fill  his  pipe.  The  others 
followed  his  example,  with  the  exception  of  Red- 
hand,  who  remained  standing,  and  of  Bertram, 
who  quickly  opened  his  sketch-book,  that  being 
the  first  opportunity  he  had  enjoyed  during  the 
day  of  making  an  entry  therein. 

"  Right,"  exclaimed  Bounce.  "  It's  allers  more 
feelosophical  to  sot  than  to  stand  —  also  more 
ekornomical,  'cause  it  saves  yer  moccasins.  Go 
on  with  yer  story,  old  man." 

"  It  ain't  a  story,"  said  Redhand  ;  "  nor  I  don't 
think  it  can  even  be  called  an  anecdote.  Well, 
this  old  chap  that  once  trapped  beaver  in  them 
parts  came  down  to  Pine  Point  settlement  one 
year  with  a  load  o'  furs,  sold  'em  all  off,  took  a 
ragin'  fever,  and  died."  Redhand  paused,  and 
gazed  dreamily  at  the  ground. 

"  I  say,"  observed  Bounce,  seriously,  "  ain't 
that  wot  ye  may  call  raither  a  short  hanikdot  — 
not  much  in  it,  eh  ?  " 

"  But  before  he  died,"  resumed  Redhand,  with- 
out noticing  the  interruption,  "  he  sent  for  me  an 


— fi>~»s«,„ 


CUHIOSITT  AROUSED. 


141 


said  —  Redhand,  Pm  goin'  onder,  an'  I've  got 
some  property  as  I  don't  want  lost.  Ye  know 
Beaver  Creek  V  *  \  es,'  says  I,  *  every  fat  of  it.' 
'Well,  then,'  says  he,  *  there's  a  spot  there  with 
three  mounds  on  the  right  side  o'  the  Creek,  and 
a  tall  poplar  in  front  of  'em.'  *  I  know  it,'  says 
I.  *  Well,  w'en  I  last  come  from  that  part,'  says 
lie,  '  I  made  a  cache  at  the  foot  o'  that  poplar, 
an'  put  one  or  two  things  in,  which  it  'ud  be  a 
pity  to  lose  —  so  I  give  'em  to  you,  Redhand.  I 
was  chased  by  Injuns  at  the  place,  so  I  couldn't 
stop  to  bring  'em  away,  d'ye  see  ?  '  *  An'  what 
were  the  things  ye  put  there  ?  '  said  I.  But  he 
gave  me  no  answer ;  his  mind  began  to  wander, 
and  he  never  spoke  sense  again.  Now,  lads,  this 
IS  Beaver  Creek,  and  there  stands  the  poplar  in 
front  o'  the  three  mounds." 

Redhand  pointed  to  the  tree  as  he  spoke,  and 
the  others  started  up  with  alacrity,  for  the  little 
touch  of  romance  connected  with  the  incident, 
combined  with  their  comparatively  destitute  con- 
diiion,  and  their  ignorance  of  w^hat  the  concealed 
treasure  might  be,  powerfully  stirred  their  cu- 
riosity. 

Arming  themselves  with  strong  staves,  they 
began  to  dig  away  the  earth  at  the  roots  of  the 
poplar. 

After  a  few  minutes'  hard  work.  Bounce  rose 
to  wipe  the  perspiration  from  his  brow,  and 
said. — 


i 


I 


\A 


142 


THE   WILD   MAN  OP  THE    WEST. 


"  Wot  for  didn't  ye  tell  us  o'  this  before,  Red- 
hand?" 

"  Because  I  wasn't  sure  the  cache  might  not 
have  bin  discovered  long  ago,  and  I  didn't  want 
to  risk  disappointin'  ye." 

"  Hallo  !  here's  something ^''  exclaimed  Big  Wal 
ler,  as  the  point  of  the  stake  with  which  he  tore 
up  the  earth  struck  against  some  hard  substance. 

"  Have  a  care,  boy,"  cried  Bounce,  stooping 
down  and  clearing  away  the  earth  with  his  hands. 
"  P'raps  it's  easy  broken.  No  —  why  —  it's  a 
keg!"  \ 

"  So  it  am,"  cried  Gibault ;  p'raps  it  am 
poudre." 

At  this  »"noment  Big  Waller  and  Bounce  gave 
the  keg  a  violent  tug  and  disentombed  it,  an 
operation  which  proved  G'bault's  surmise  to  be 
wrong,  for  the  shake  showed  that  the  contents 
were  liquid.  In  a  moment  the  plug  was  driven 
in,  and  Bounce,  putting  his  nose  to  the  hole,  in- 
haled the  result.  He  drew  back  with  a  look  of 
surprise,  and  said  — 

"  Brandy ! " 

"  Ha !  here's  one  oder  ting,"  cried  Gibault, 
hying  hold  of  a  bundle  and  dragging  it  to  light. 
^'  Vat  can  dis  be." 

The  question  was  soon  answered ;  the  string 
was  cut,  the  leathern  cover  unrolled,  and  a  con- 
siderable quantity  of  tobacco  was  disclosed  to 
the  view  of  the  trappers,  whose   looks  showed 


m 


BERTRAM'S   RECOMMENDATION. 


143 


pretty  clearly  that  this  latter  discovery  was  much 
more  agreeable  than  the  former. 

After  digging  deep  all  round  the  tree,  they 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  this  was  all  that  the 
cache  contained. 

"  Now,"  said  Bounce,  after  some  talk  in  refer- 
ence to  their  newly-found  treasure,  "  wot's  to  be 
done  with  dis  here  keg  o'  brandy  ?  As  for  the 
baccy,  we'll  carry  that  along  with  us,  of  course, 
an'  if  Master  Kedhand's  a  liberal  feller,  we'll  help 
him  to  smoke  it.  But  the  brandy  keg's  heavy, 
an'  to  say  truth,  I'm  not  much  inclined  for  it. 
I  never  wos  fond  o'  fire-water." 

"  If  you'll  allow  me,  friends,  to  suggest,"  said 
Bertram,  whose  experience  among  trappers  in 
other  regions  had  convinced  him  that  spirits  was  a 
most  undesirable  commodity ;  "  I  would  recom- 
mend that  you  should  throw  this  brandy  away. 
1  never  saw  good  come  of  it.  We  do  not  require 
it  for  health,  neither  do  we  for  sickness.  Let  us 
llirow  it  away,  my  friends;  it's  a  dangerous  and 
deceitful  foe." 

"  Mais,  monsieur,"  interposed  Gibault,  with  a 
rueful  countenance ;  you  speak  the  trooth ;  but 
though  hirns  be  dangereaux  an'  ver'  bad  for  drink 
oftin,  yet  ven  it  be  cold  vedder,  it  doo  varm  de 
cokils  of  de  hart ! " 

Big  Waller  laughed  vociferously  at  this.  "  I 
guess  Gibault's  right,"  said  he,  "  it  'ud  be  a 
powerful  shame  to  fling  it  away." 


144 


THE   WILD   MAN  OF  THE  WLST. 


"  Well,  lads,  said  Redhand,  "  it's  evident  that 
we  can't  drink  it  just  now,  for  it  would  unsteady 
our  hands  for  the  work  we  have  to  do  this  night. 
It's  also  clear  we  can't  carry  it  with  us  on  a  war 
expedition ;  so  I  propose  that  we  should  put  it 
where  we  found  it  an'  come  back  for  it  when 
we've  done  wi'  the  redskins." 

This  plan  was  finally  agreed  to ;  'the  keg  was 
rebuit'ied  at  the  foot  of  the  poplar,  and  the  party 
continued  their  journey,  carrying  the  much-prized 
tobacco  along  with  them.  .  , 

The  sun  was  still  blazing  above  the  mountains 
in  the  west,  tinging  their  snowy  spires  with  rosy 
red,  when  the  trappers  came  upon  the  first  indi- 
cation of  the  neighborhood  of  Indians  in  the 
shape  of  recent  footprints  and  cuttings  in  the 
woods.  A  large  canoe  was  also  found  lying 
bottom  up  on  the  bank  of  the  creek.  This  Red- 
hand  examined,  and  found  it  to  be  in  good  con- 
dition, although,  from  the  marks  in  the  vicinity, 
it  was  evident  that  it  had  not  been  recently 
used. 

Men  who  spend  their  lives  in  the  backwoods 
of  America  are  celebrated  for  the  closeness  with 
which  they  observe  every  object  and  circum- 
stance which  happens  to  pass  within  tlie  range 
of  their  perceptions.  This  habit  and  acuteness 
of  observation  is  the  result  of  necessity.  The 
[rapper  and  the  Red  Indian  are  alike  dependent 
very  much  on  this  faculty  for  their  sustenance 


CAUTION  REQUIRED. 


145 


and  for  their  safety.  Surrounded  as  they  are  by 
perils  of  every  kind,  their  eyes  and  ears  are  con- 
stantly on  the  alert,  as  they  pass  through  the 
pathless  wilderness  on  the  hunt  or  on  the  war- 
trail.  No  object  within  the  range  of  vision  is 
passed  with  indifference.  Every  thing  is  care- 
fully yet  quickly  noted  —  the  breaking  of  a  twig, 
the  crushing  of  a  blade  of  grass,  or  the  footprint 
of  man  or  beast.  Hence  the  backwoodsman 
acquires  the  habit  of  turning  all  things  in  his 
path  to  account,  or  notes  them  in  case  they 
should,  by  any  possibility,  be  required  by  him  at 
a  future  time. 

Redhand  had  no  definite  object  in  view  when, 
with  the  assistance  of  March  Marston,  he  lifted 
the  canoe  and  placed  it  in  the  stream  to  ascertain 
that  it  was  water-tight,  and  then  replaced  it  on 
the  bank  with  the  paddles  close  beside  it.  But 
he  had  a  general  idea,  founded  on  experience, 
that  a  good  canoe  was  a  useful  thing  in  many 
supposable  circumstances,  and  that  it  was  as 
well  to  know  where  such  an  article  was  to  be 
found. 

"  We  shall  have  to  go  cautiously  now,"  said 
he,  before  resuming  the  march.  "  The  Injuns 
are  not  far  off,  as  ye  may  see  by  yonder  thin  line 
o'  smoke  that  rises  above  the  trees  on  the  moun- 
tain side.  If  they  are  the  men  we  seek,  they're 
sharp  as  foxes,  so  we'll  have  to  step  like  the 
painter.'* 

18 


1 

1 

li 

^IB 

1 

. 

146 


THE  WIL^  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


Bertram  looked  up  quickly  at  the  last  word— 
then  he  smiled  the  next  moment  as  he  remem- 
bered that  the  panther  was  thus  styled  by 
trappers. 

Proceeding  cautiously  forward  in  single  file, 
they  at  length  gained  a  spot  beyond  vhich  they 
could  not  advance  without  running  the  risk  of 
being  discovered.  Here  another  halt  was  made, 
and  here  it  was  agreed  that  Redhanvi  should 
pdvance  alone,  near  enough  to  ascertain  whether 
the  Indians,  whose  camp  they  were  approaching, 
were  actually  the  scamps  who  had  robbed  Ber- 
tram of  his  horses.  The  old  trapper  was  about 
to  set  forward  when  Bertram  stopped  him. 

"  Methinks,  old  man,"  said  he,  "  it  were  weU 
that  I  should  accompany  you  on  this  expedition, 
which  I  foresee  is  one  of  no  little  danger ;  and 
as  the  danger  is  encountered  chiefly  on  my 
account,  it  seems  to  me  right  and  fitting  that  I 
should  share  it  along  with  you.  Besides,  two 
are  better  than  one  in  a  struggle,  whether  men- 
tal or  physical." 

Redhand  looked  a  little  perplexed.  He  did 
not  like  to  tell  the  poor  artist  that  he  was  totally 
unfit  to  make  a  stealthy  approach  to  an  Indian 
camp,  yet  he  felt  that  the  danger  of  failure  would 
be  increased  tenfold  if  he  allowed  him  to  make 
the  attempt;  but  Bertram  pleaded  so  earnestly, 
and,  withal,  so  resolutely,  that  he  at  length  con- 
sented, on  condition  of  his  doing  nothing  but 


DISCOVERY   OP   THE   RED   WARRIORS. 


147 


what  he  was  desired  to  do,  and  keeping  as  quiet 
as  a  mouse.  This  the  artist  promised  to  do,  and 
the  two  accordingly  set  forth,  armed  with  their 
knives  and  the  two  pistols.  Bertram  also  carried 
his  sword.  The  rest  of  the  party  were  to  remain 
in  ambush  until  the  return  of  the  others. 

During  the  first  part  of  their  advance  through 
the  wood  Bertram  trod  as  softly  and  carefully  as 
an  Indian,  and  watched  every  motion  of  his 
companion,  who  led  him  down  into  a  ravine 
which  conducted  them  to  within  a  few  hundred 
yards  of  the  camp.  From  the  absence  of  such 
noises  as  the  barking  of  dogs  and  shouts  of 
children,  the  old  trapper  conjectured  that  this 
must  be  either  a  party  of  trappers  or  a  war  party 
of  Indians.  A  few  minutes'  creeping  on  hands 
and  knees  through  the  underwood  brought  them 
to  a  spot  whence  the  camp  could  be  seen,  and 
showed  that  in  the  latter  conjecture  he  was  right. 
The  red  warriors,  forty  in  number,  were  seated 
in  a  circle  round  their  watch  fire  smoking  their 
tomahawks  in  moody  silence. 

To  the  eye  of  Bertram  they  all  seemed  to  be 
lost  in  dreamy  reverie,  but  Redhand  observed, 
with  a  feeling  of  anxiety,  that  he  who  seemed  to 
be  their  chief  sat  in  that  peculiar  attitude  which 
indicates  intense  attention.  Laying  his  hand  on 
Bertram's  shoulder,  the  old  man  said,  in  the 
faintest  possible  whisper  — 

"  Yonder  sits  the  thief,  an't  he  ?  » 


ii; 


■ 


'I.'.;HB  ■»■■ 


148 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF   THE   WEST. 


Bertram  at  once  recognized  in  the  chief  of  the 
band  before  him  Big  Snake,  the  Indian  who  had 
stolen  hia  horses  and  property ;  so  be  nodded  his 
head  violently,  r^nd  looked  excited,  but  wisely 
refrained  from  speech,  lest  his  voice  should  be 
overheard. 

Redhand  shook  his  head.  "  The  thief,"  said 
he,  in  a  tone  that  was  scarcely  audible,  "  has 
heard  us :  I  see  by  his  face  that  he  suspects  he 
has  heard  somethings  and  he  knows  that  it  was 
not  the  falling  of  a  leaf.  If  we  break  a  twig  now 
we're  done  for."  ^  - 

Redhand  meant  this  to  be  a  salutary  caution 
to  his  .companion,  which  would  insure  a  noiseless 
retreat.  To  men  of  his  own  stamp  it  would  have 
been  useful,  but  he  little  knew  Ihe  peculiar  tem- 
perament of  his  friend  ;  the  mere  idea  of  the  suc- 
cess of  the  whole  expedition  depending  upon  his 
extreme  care,  unhinged  the  nerves  of  the  poor 
artist,  who,  although  absolutely  a  brave  man,  in 
the  true  sense  of  the  term,  could  no  more  control 
his  nervous  system  than  he  could  perform  an 
Indian  war-dance.  He  could  have  rutshed  single 
handed  on  the  whole  body  of  warriors  with  ease, 
but  he  could  not  creep  among  the  dry  twigs  that 
strewed  the  ground  without  trembling  like  an 
aspen-leaf  lest  he  should  break  one. 

It  is  wonderful,  however,  what  necessity  will 
enable  men  to  do.  Bertram  did  creep  after  his 
friend^  back  toward  the  spot  where  the  rest  of 


CAPTURE   OF   BERTRAM  AND   REDHAND.       149 

his  party  lay,  as  softly  and  noiselessly  as  if  he  had 
been  bred  to  the  work  from  infancy.  On  regain- 
ing the  edge  of  the  ravine,  they  rose  and  advanced 
in  a  crouching  posture.  Then  Bertram  sighed 
and  felt  that  imminent  danger  was  over.  Alas* 
hat  feeling  of  partial  security  cost  him  dear.  The 
step  that  succeeded  the  sigh  was  a  careless  one. 
His  foot  caught  in  a  projecting  root,  and  next 
moment  he  went  headforemost  into  the  centre  of 
a  decayed  bush  with  a  crackling  crash  that  was 
absolulely  appalling  in  the  circumstances. 

Redhand  cast  upon  the  luckless  man  one  glance 
of  horror,  and  uttering  the  words,  "  Run  for  your 
life !  "  dashed  down  the  bank,  and  coursed  along 
the  bottom  like  a  hare.  At  the  same  moment 
that  terrific  yell,  which  has  so  often  chilled  the 
heart's  blood  of  men  and  women  in  those  western 
wilds,  rang  through  the  forest,  telling  that  they 
were  discovered^  and  that  the  Indians  were  in 
pursuit. 

Bertram  kept  close  to  the  heels  of  the  old  trap- 
per at  first,  but  before  he  had  run  fifty  yards  he 
tripped  and  fell  again.  On  attempting  to  rise 
he  was  seized  and  thrown  violently  to  the  ground 
by  an  Indian  warrior.  Looking  back  and  ob- 
serving this,  Redhand  turned  at  once,  like  a  hare 
doubling  on  its  course,  and  rushed  to  the  rescue ; 
but  before  he  reached  his  friend  he  was  surrounded 
by  a  dozen  yelling  Indians.     At  the  foremost  of 

these  he  levelled  his  pistol,  but  the  faithless  weapon 

13  ♦ 


150 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF   THE   W^JST. 


missed  fire,  and  h<  was  in  ihe  act  of  hurling  it 
at  his  adversary,  when  a  blow  from  behind  felled 
him  to  the  ground. 

While  this  was  going  on,  the  trappers  were 
boundi'jg  to  the  succor  of  their  comrades.  V7hen 
thev  cane  to  the  field  of  action  and  sitw  neither 
of  their  friends  (for  they  had  bee'i  borne  swiftly 
away),  and  beheld  an  overwhelming  band  of 
armed  savages  rushing  toward  them,  they  at 
once  perceived  that  st"«ngth  or  courage  could 
avad  them  nothing  in  such  an  unequal  conflict; 
so  they  turned  and  fled,  scattering  themselves 
among  the  bushes  so  as  to  divert  pursuit  as  much 
as  possj1)le. 

Bounce  and  Gibault  were  the  only  two  who 
kept  together.  These  made  for  the  spot  where 
the  canoe  had  L:en  l*^ft,  but  the  lal;ter  outran  the 
former  so  quickly  that  he  was  soon  lost  to  view 
ahead  of  him.  In  a  few  minutes  Bounce  gained 
the  bank  of  the  stream,  and  seized  the  end  of  the 
canoe.  To  his  amazement  Gibault  was  nowhere 
to  be  seen.  But  he  had  no  time  for  thought,  for 
at  that  moment  he  was  discovered  by  two  Indians 
who  ran  toward  him.  The  canoe  was  launched, 
and  a  paddle  seized  in  an  instant,  but  the  trusty 
trapper  was  loath,  even  in  his  extremity,  to  push 
off'  while  his  comrade  might  be  in  danger. 

"  Ho !  Gibault !  Gibault  Noir ; "  he  shouted. 
**  Quick,  lad  ;  yer  too  late  o'most,  ho ! " 

Grinding  his  teeth  in  an  agony  of  anxiety,  he 


^••,/-H: 


BOUNCE'S   LIFE   IN   DANGER. 


151 


made  a  sudden  rush  at  the  foremost  Lidiiui,  who 
little  dreamed  of  such  an  attack,  and  hit  him  with 
the  paddle  with  all  his  force.  The  savage  dropped 
like  a  stone,  and  the  paddle  flew  into  a  dozen 
splinters.  This  was  a  foolish  act  on  the  part  of 
Bounce,  for  the  second  Indian  was  now  close  up  jn 
him,  and,  seeing  the  fate  of  his  companion,  he 
stopped  short,  and  hastily  fitted  an  arrow  to  his 
bow.  Just  then  several  of  the  savages  burst  from 
the  wood  with  fierce  cries.  There  was  no  time 
to  lose.  Bounce  turned,  pushed  off  the  canoe, 
and  leaped  in  as  an  arrow  grazed  his  neck. 

The  bold  trapper's  condition  seemed  hopeless ; 
for,  having  broken  the  paddle  to  pieces,  he  could 
not  propel  his  little  bark  out  of  danger.  The 
stream  was  broad  and  rapid  at  that  place,  and 
swept  him  away  swiftly.  Immediately  a  shower 
of  arrows  fell  around  him,  some  grazing  his  person 
and  piercing  his  clothes  and  the  canoe,  but  for- 
tunately not  wounding  him. 

Meanwhile  three  of  the  Indians  darted  down 
stream,  and,  throwing  themselves  into  the  cur- 
rent, swam  out  so  as  to  intercept  the  canoe  as 
it  p-  'Sed.  Bounce,  having  laid  down  at  fuU 
lenr^  in  the  bottom  of  his  tiny  bark  to  avoid  the 
arrow  which  were  discharged  at  him,  did  not 
observe  these  men,  ana  the  first  intimation  he 
had  of  what  was  taking  place  was  the  canoe  being 
nearly  upset,  as  a  powerful  savage  laid  ho'd  of  the 
side  of  it 


152 


THE  WILD  MAN  OP  THE  WEST. 


To  draw  his  knife  and  pass  it  round  the  wrist 
of  the  Indian,  so  as  to  sever  the  tendons,  was  the 
work  of  a  moment.  The  savage  fell  back  with  a 
yell  of  mingled  rage  and  pain.  The  others  seeing 
what  had  occurred,  wisely  turned  and  made  for 
the  shore.  This  incident  was  the  means  of  sav- 
ing the  trapper,  for  the  Indians,  fearful  of  wound- 
ing their  comrade,  had  ceased  to  discharge  their 
arrowy,  and  when  they  again  ventured  to  do  so, 
a  tumultuous  rapid  had  caught  the  canoe,  and 
whirled  it  nearly  over  to  the  opposite  shore. 

Bounce  watched  his  opportunity.  As  he  swept 
near  to  a  rocky  point,  he  sprang  toward  it  with 
all  his  might.  He  fell  short,  but  happily  the 
water  did  not  reach  above  his  knees.  Next  mo- 
ment he  sprang  up  the  bank  and  stood  on  the 
edge  of  the  underwood,  where  he  paused,  and, 
turning  round,  shook  his  clenched  fist  at  his 
enemies,  and  uttered  a  shout  of  defiance. 

The  disappointed  Indians  gave  vent  to  a  fiend- 
ish howl,  and  discharged  a  cloud  of  arrows,  most 
of  which  fell  short  of  their  mark.  Ere  the  last 
shaft  had  fallen  harmless  to  the  ground.  Bounce 
had  entered  the  forest  and  was  gone. 


BOUNCE   THINKS   OF   NUMBER   ONE. 


1G3 


CHAPTER    IX. 


Bounce  cogitates  upon  tlie  embarrassing  CircumHtanccs  of  liis  Con- 
dition.—  Discovery  of  Black  Gibaiilt — Terrible  Tate  in  Store 
for  their  Comrades.  —  A  Mode  of  Hescuc  planned.  —  Dreadful 
Effects  of  Fire-water.  —  The  Hescue. 

About  ten  minutes  after  making  his  escape 
from  his  Indian  foes,  Bounce  seated  himself  on 
the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree  and  began  to  think 
upon  "  Number  One." 

A  little  red  squirrel  had  been  seated  on  the 
trunk  of  that  tree  just  two  minutes  before  his 
arrival.  It  was  now  seated  on  the  topmost 
branch  of  a  neighboring  pine,  looking  at  the  un- 
ceremonious intruder,  with  a  pair  of  brilliant 
black  eyes,  indignantly. 

Possibly  the  reader  may  think  that  it  was  selfish 
of  Bounce,  at  such  a  time,  to  devote  much  atten- 
tion to  Number  One.  He  had  just  escaped  ;  he 
A^as  in  comparative  safety  ;  he  was  free  ;  while 
here  could  be  little  or  no  doubt  that  his  late 
companions  were  prisoners,  if  not  killed,  and 
that,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  things,  they  would 
eventually  suffer  death  by  torture.  At  such  a 
time  and  in  such  circumstances  it  would  be 
more  natural,  ever  in  a  selfish  man,  to  think  of 


15  i 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


any  or  of  all  the  other  numerals  than  number 


one. 


But,  reader,  I  need  scarcely  tell  you  that  things 
are  not  alvx^ays  what  they  seem.  Men  are  fre- 
quently not  so  bad  as,  at  a  first  glance,  they  would 
appear  to  be. 

Bounce  always  reasoned  philosophically,  and  he 
often  thought  aloud.  He  did  so  on  this  occasion, 
to  the  immense  edification  of  the  little  red  squir- 
rel, no  doubt.  At  least,  if  we  may  judge  from 
the  way  in  whicli  it  glared  and  stared  at  the 
trapper  —  peeped  at  hira  round  the  trunk  ©f  the 
tree,  and  over  the  branches  and  under  the  twigs 
and  through  the  leaves,  jerking  its  body  and 
quirking  its  head  and  whisking  its  tail  —  v>"e  have 
every  reason  to  conclude  that  it  experienced  very 
deep  interest  and  intense  excitement.  Pleasure 
and  excitement  being,  with  many  people.,  con- 
vertible terms,  we  have  no  reason  for  sup- 
posing that  it  is  otherwise  with  squirrels,  and, 
therefore,  every  reason  for  concluding  that 
the  squirrel  in  question  enjoyed  Bounce's  visit 
greatly. 

"  Now  this  is  wot  it  comes  to,"  said  Bounce, 
calmly  fiVing  his  pipe,  from  the  mere  force  of 
habit,  for  he  had  not  at  that  time  the  most  dis- 
tant idci  of  enjoying  a  smoke.  "  This  is  wot  it 
comes  to.  Savages  is  savages  all  the  wurld  over, 
and  they  always  wos  savages,  an'  they  always 
mM  06  savages,  an'  they  can't  be  nothin'  else." 


bounce's  reasoning. 


155 


At  this  point  Bounce  recollected  having  seen 
an  Indian  missionary  who  had  been  taken  when 
a  boy  from  his  father's  wigwam  and  educated 
and  who  had  turned  out  as  good  and  respectable 
a  Christian  gentleman  as  most  white  men,  and 
better  than  many,  so  he  checked  himself  and 
said:  — 

"  Leastwise  they  can't  be  nothin'  but  savages 
so  —  so  long  as  they  is  savages." 

This  argument,  although  exceedingly  obvious, 
seemed  even  to  his  own  mind  to  possess  so  little 
power,  that  he  endeavored  to  enforce  it  by  slap- 
ping his  thigh  with  such  energy  that  the  body  of 
the  red  squirrel  nearly  jumped  out  at  its  own 
eyes.  It  clasped  the  tree-stem  to  its  beating 
heart  bravely,  however,  and,  judging  from  its 
subsequent  conduct,  speedily  recovered  its  self- 
possession. 

"  That's  how  it  is,"  continued  Bounce  ;  "  an' 
that  bein'  the  case,  savages  ahvays  invariably 
thinks  o'  number  one,  before  they  thinks  on 
nothin'  else.  Now,  as  men  judge  theirselves  so 
they  judges  of  others  —  that's  a  fact,  ps  all  fee- 
iosophy  has  preclaimed,  an'  all  experience  haa 
pruven.  Wot  then?  Why,  them  savages  '11 
think  I've  cleared  off —  made  tracks  —  thankful  to 
git  away  with  my  own  skin  whole,  and  carin'  no 
more  for  my  comrades  than  if  they  wos  so  many 
stumps.  Thinkin'  that,  of  coorse  they'll  think 
it's  o'  no  use  to  try  to  cross  the  river  and  give 


156 


THE  WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


chase,  cause  I've  got  a  long  start  o'  em,  an'  so 
d'ye  see,  they'll  give  me  up  an'  think  no  moia 
about  me.  Good  !  very  good !  But  p'raps  it's 
jest  poss'ble  that  feller  whose  paw  I  tickled  may 
ometimes  recall  me  to  mind." 

This  last  idea  tickled  the  trapper  so  powerfully 
that  he  chuckled  in  a  quiet  way,  and  in  doing  so 
exposed  such  a  double  row  of  white  teeth  that 
the  squirrel,  which  had  remained  for  some  time 
in  an  attitude  of  deep  attention,  began  to  show 
symptoms  of  uneasiness. 

"  Now,  I'll  tell  you  wot  I'll  do,"  continued 
Bounce,  resuming  his  look  of  grave  anxiety,  as 
the  thought  of  his  comrades  recurred  to  him; 
"  I'll  go  up  the  river  till  I  comes  to  opposite  the 
place  where  I  shoved  the  canoe  into  the  water. 
By  the  time  I  git  there  it'll  be  dark ;  then  I'll 
swum  across  an'  foUer  the  redskins  an'  save  my 
comrades  if  I  can.  If  I  can't,  wot  then  ?  why 
I'll  leave  the  scalp  of  Bob  Ounce  to  dangle  in 
the  smoke  of  a  redskin's  wigwam." 

We  have  elsewhere  hinted  that  when  a  Rocky- 
Mountain  trapper  makes  up  his  mind  to  do  a 
certain  thing  he  usually  does  it  at  once.  Having 
settled  the  plan  of  his  future  proceedings.  Bounce 
did  not  waste  more  time  in  thought  or  speech. 
He  thrust  his  unsmoked  pipe  into  his  bosom, 
leaped  up  from  the  trunk  of  the  fallen  tree,  and 
darted  from  the  spot  with  such  sudden  prompti- 
tude, that  the  horrified  squirrel  sprang  wildly 


BOUNCE'S   RECONNOISANCE. 


157 


into  empty  space  and  vanished  from  the  scene 
forever ! 

For  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Bounce  glided  noise- 
lessly through  the  forest,  keeping  a  course  par- 
allel with  the  river.  In  the  deepening  gloom  of 
evening,  he  appeared  more  like  a  spectre  than  a 
human  being  —  so  quick  and  agile  were  his  mo- 
tions as  he  flitted  past  the  tree-stems,  yet  so 
noiseless  the  tread  of  his  moccasined  feet.  The 
bushes  were  thick  and  in  places  tangled,  com- 
pelling him  to  stoop  and  twist  and  diverge  right 
and  left  as  he  sped  along,  but,  being  unencum- 
bered with  weapon"^  or  weight  of  any  kind,  he 
advanced  so  rapidly  that  in  the  short  space  of 
time  we  have  mentioned  he  stood  opposite  to 
that  part  of  the  bank  where  the  attack  had  been 
made,  and  below  which  he  had  been  swept  for  a 
great  distance  in  the  canoe  by  the  rapid  stream. 
Here  he  spent  some  time  in  reconnoitring  the 
opposite  bank,  but  without  gathering  much  in- 
formation from  his  observations.  No  symptom 
of  the  presence  of  human  beings  could  be  dis- 
covered. No  column  of  smoke  rising  above  the 
trees  to  tell  of  the  watch-fire  of  white  man  or 
red.  The  trapper  listened  intently,  then  he  be- 
thought him,  for  the  first  time,  of  giving  the 
ignal  which,  at  setting  out  on  their  journey, 
Ihey  had  agreed  to  use  in  all  circumstances  of 
danger.     It  was  the  low  howl  of  a  wolf  followed 

immediately  by  the  hoot  of  an  owl.     I'he  re« 

U 


158 


THE  WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


ply  to  it  was  to  be  the  hoot  of  the  owl  without 
the  cry  of  the  wolf  when  danger  should  be  im- 
minent and  extreme  caution  necessary,  or  the 
howl  of  the  wolf  alone  if  the  danger  should  have 
passed  away. 

To  the  first  utterance  of  the  signal  no  reply 
was  made.  After  waiting  a  few  seconds,  Bounce 
gave  it  forth  again.  Immediately  after,  the  low 
howl  of  a  wolf  was  heard  on  the  opposite  bank, 
Lind  a  figure  appeared  at  the  edge  of  the  river. 
Darkness  prevented  the  trapper  ascertaining  who 
it  was,  but  a  repetition  of  the  cry  cotivinced 
him  that  it  could  be  none  other  than  Black 
Gilault. 

With  a  grunt  of  satisfaction,  Bounce  at  once 
proceeded  to  make  preparations  for  crossing  the 
river.  Cutting  a  large  piece  of  bark  from  a 
neighboring  tree,  he  hastily  formed  it  into  a 
species  of  dish  or  flat  boat ;  then,  stripping  off  all 
his  garments,  he  tied  them  up  in  a  tight  bundle, 
and  placed  them  in  this  miniature  canoe ;  after 
which  he  plunged  boldly  into  the  stream  and 
made  for  the  opposite  shore,  pushing  his  little 
ark  before  him.  In  five  minutes  he  had  crossed, 
and  entered  into  a  hasty  conversation  with  Gi 
bault,  in  low,  eager  tones,  while  pulling  on  his 
clothes. 

"  First  of  all,  lad,"  said  Bounce,  laying  his 
hand  impressively  on  the  other's  shoul<ier,  "  are 
they  all  safe  ?  —  none  killed  ?  ' 


*  Non  ; 
« I'm  t) 
go  ahead, 
pull  on  m 
"  Veil,  i 
not  live  lo 
Gibault 
begone  dei 
of  his  drei 
"  Wot's  w 
"  'Cause 
or  de  day  j 
you  all  I  J 
avay  from 
ver'  probab: 
bank  befor 
dere,  so  op 
come  to  pai 
de  Injun,  ai 
escape,  an' 
Ver'  soor 
of  river  — : 
comerades  '\ 
hand,  an'  B 
an'  poor  Mc 
Bertram,  be 
ment  frighte 
fright  von 
eauvage  dat 


gibault's  narrative. 


159 


*'  Non  ;  dey  be  all  alive,  for  ^-ertain." 

"  I'm  thankful  for  that  —  very  thankful.  Now 
go  ahead,  lad,  and  tell  me  what  ye  know,  while  I 
pull  on  my  leggins." 

"  Veil,  dey  be  alive,  as  I  have  say.  Mais  dey 
not  live  long."  -  ■■■■  >. 

Gibault  said  this  with  such  a  look  of  woe- 
begone despair  that  Bounce  paused  in  the  midst 
of  his  dressing  and  said  with  much  anxiety  — 
•'  Wot's  wrong !  —  why  not,  lad  ?  " 

"  'Cause  dey  vill  be  tortured  to  death  demain, 
or  (le  day  aprcs  de  moiTOw.  Stay,  I  vill  tell  to 
you  all  I  knows.  You  mus'  know,  ven  I  run 
avay  from  you,  I  do  so  'cause  I  know  dat  canoe 
ver'  probabilie  git  opturned,  so  I  come  to  river 
bank  before  every  von.  Dere  is  von  big  tree 
dere,  so  op  I  go  like  von  skvirrel.  You  Ivnow  vat 
come  to  pass  aprijs  dat.  You  smash  de  head  of 
de  Injun,  aussi,  you  smash  de  paddil.  Den  you 
escape,  an'  de  Injuns  howl  vid  passion ! 

Ver'  soon  after  dat,  dey  all  come  to  de  bank 
of  river  —  forty  of  'em,  I  tink  —  draggin'  our 
comerades  vid  dem,  all  tied  by  de  wrist  —  Red- 
hand,  an'  Big  Valler,  an'  March,  an'  Hawksving, 
an'  poor  Monsieur  Bertram.  Mais,  dat  Monsieur 
Bertram,  be  most  'straordinary  man !  He  terrible- 
ment  frightened  for  every  leetil  ting,  but  him  not 
fright  von  bit  for  big  ting !  Hims  look  at  de 
Bauvage  dat  hold  him  as  if  him  be  a  lion.     ±  do 


;']t 


160 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE   WEST. 


Il 


tink  Monsieur  Bertram  would  fight  veil  if  hims 
obleeged. 

"  After  good  deal  of  consultoration  an'  dis- 
pnterin',  dey  vas  about  for  go  avay ;  so  I  sit  ver' 
etill,  but  I  move  my  foot  von  leet'  morsil,  an'  von 
small  leef  fall  to  de  ground.     It  vas  ver'  small 
leaf,  but  Hawksving  him  see  it.     Ah  !  he  be  von 
cliver   Injun.     Ver'  sharp  in  sight  too !     I  tink 
him  should  be  named  Hawkse^e.     No  von  else 
notice  it,  but  I  see  Hawksving  visper  to  Big  Val- 
ler.    Dat  man  be  sharp  feller  too.    He  turns  hihis 
back  to  de  tree,  nevair  vonce  looked  up,  but  him 
burst  into  loud  laugh,  like  von  tondre-clap,  an' 
cry  out,  *  Veil  done,  Gibault !      Keep  close,  old 
feller ;  their   village   is   one   day  off  toward  de 
sun  ! '     An'  den  he  laugh  again.     Ah  !  ho  !  how 
my  heart  him  jomp  ven  he  speak  my  name !    But 
de  Injuns  tink  hims  yell  out  to  some  von  cross  de 
river,  for  him  look  dat  vay.     Veil,  off  dey  go, 
and  I  begin  to  breath  more  easy  ;  but  ven  dey 
git  far  off,  I  hear  the  voice  of  Big  VaUer  come 
back  like  far-avay  tondre,  cryin'  *  Dey're  goin'  t'^ 
roast  us  alive  to-morrow  ;  look  sharp ! '     Dat  vas 
de  last  I  hear.     Den  de  darkness  come,  an'  den 
you  come,  an',  now,  vat  is  to  come  nixt  ?  " 

Poor  Gibault  spoke  fast,  and  perspired  very 
much,  and  looked  wild  and  haggard,  for  his 
nature  was  sensitive  and  sympathetic,  and  the 
idea  of  his  comrades  meeting  with  such  a  horrible 
fate  was  almost  too  much  for  him. 


Boun 
deep   ai 
usually 
ceive  lu) 
either  bj 
rades  wl 
forty  arr 
from  in! 
caution  i 
to  them. 
*'  It  lo. 
a  stone, 
resting  a 
Gibault. 
That's  w 
"  Non, 
can  ve  dt 
ve  had  t< 
noting  — 
"  True 
"an'  yit 
nothin'  c 
force  '11  I 
After  £ 
they  tied 
"  Qui. 
poor  Rec 
valk  as 

'^  Drur 
ing  up  ai 


DESPAIR  OF  BOUNCE  AND   GIBAULT. 


161 


Bounce's  honest  face  assumed  an  expression  of 
deep  anxiety,  for,  fertile  though  his  resources 
usually  were,  he  could  not  at  that  moment  con- 
ceive how  it  was  possible  for  two  unarmed  men, 
either  by  force  or  stratagem,  to  rescue  five  com- 
rades who  were  securely  J)ound,  and  guarded  by 
forty  armed  wamors,  all  of  whom  were  trained 
from  infancy  in  the  midst  of  alarms  that  made 
caution  and  intense  watchfulness  second  nature 
to  them. 

"  It  looks  bad,"  said  Bounce,  sitting  down  on 
a  stone,  clasping  his  hard  hands  together,  and 
resting  an  elbow  on  each  knee,  "  Sit  ye  down, 
Gibault.  We'll  think  a  bit,  an'  then  go  to  work. 
That's  wot  we'll  do  •—  d'ye  see  ?  " 

"  Non,  I  don't  see,"  groaned  Gibault.  "  Vat 
can  ve  do  ?  Two  to  forty  I  If  it  was  only  swords 
ve  had  to  fight  vid  —  Hah  !  But  alas  ;  we  have 
noting  —  dey  have  every  ting." 

"  True,  lad,  force  won't  do,"  returned  Bounce ; 
''  an'  yit,"  he  added,  knitting  his  brows,  "  if 
nothin'  else  '11  do,  we'll  try  at  least  how  iwuch 
force  'U  do." 

After  a  short  pause.  Bounce  resumed,  —  "  Wos 
they  tied  very  tight,  Gibault  ?  " 

"  Oui.  I  see  de  cords  deep  in  de  wrists,  an' 
poor  Redhand  seem  to  be  ver'  moch  stunned ;  he 
vallv  as  if  hims  be  dronk. 

"  Drunk  I "  exclaimed  Bounce,  suddenly  spring- 
ing up  as  if  he  had  received  an  electric  shock, 


163 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


and  seizing  his  companion  by  both  shoulders, 
while,  for  a  moment,  he  gazed  eagerly  into  his 
eyes ;  then  pushing  him  violently  away,  he  turned 
round  and  darted  along  the  bank  of  the  river, 
crying,  as  he  went,  "  Come  along,  Gibault.  I'll 
tell  ye  wot's  ud  as  w  e  go !  " 

The  astoni&y  <'d  .  uiadian  followed  as  fast  as  he 
could,  and,  in  v.n  ex.  amatory  inter] ectional  sort 
of  way,  his  friena  expl  'ned  the  plan  of  rescue 
w^hich  he  had  suddenly  conceived,  and  which  was 
as  follows :  — 

First  he  proposed  to  go  back  to  the  cache  at 
the  foot  of  the  tall  tree,  and  dig  up  the  keg 
of  brandy,  with  which  he  resolved  to  proceed 
to  the  camp  of  the  Indians,  and  by  some  means 
or  other,  get  the  whole  clan  to  drink  until 
thev  should  become  intoxicated.  Once  in  this 
condition,  he  felt  assured  they  could  be  easily 
circumvented. 

Gibault  grasped  at  this  wild  plan  as  a  drowning 
man  is  said  to  grasp  at  a  straw,  and  lent  his  aid 
right  willingly  to  disentomb  and  carry  the  brandy- 
keg.  Neither  he  nor  Bounce  knew  whether  there 
was  enough  brandy  to  intoxicate  the  whole  tribe, 
but  they  had  no  time  to  inquire  minutely  into 
probabilities. 

Vigorously,  perseveringly,  without  rest  or  halt, 
did  these  two  trappers  pmsue  their  way  that 
night,  with  the  keg  slung  on  a  pole  between  them. 
The  stars  gUmmered  down  through  the  trees  upon 


PLAN  TO  AVOID  DISCOVERT. 


163 


their  palh,  as  if  they  wished  them  success  in  their 
enterprise.  It  was  all-important  that  they  should 
reach  the  Indian  camp  before  day-break ;  so, 
although  footsore  and  weary  from  their  late  exer- 
tion after  a  long  day's  march,  they  nevertheless 
ran  steadily  on  at  a  long  swinging  trot,  which 
brought  them,  to  their  inexpressible  joy,  much 
sooner  than  they  had  anticipated,  to  their  jour- 
ney's end. 

It  was  two  hours  before  dawn  when  they  came 
suddenly  upon  the  camp,  —  so  suddenly  that  they 
had  to  crouch  the  instant  they  saw  the  watch- 
fires,  in  order  to  avoid  being  discovered. 

"  Now,  Gibault,"  whispered  Bounce,  "  you'l? 
have  to  remain  here.  Get  into  a  hiding-place  as 
fast  as  ye  can,  and  keep  close.  You're  clever 
enough  to  know  what  to  do,  and  when  to  do  it. 
Only,  lad,  come  near  and  have  your  knife  handy 
when  the  row  is  at  the  loudest,  and  see  that  ye 
don't  let  the  squaws  cut  out  our  livers  when  we're 
tied  up." 

Gibault  nodded  significantly. 

"  It's  a  curious  fact,"  continued  Bounce,  in  a 
somewhat  sad  tone, "  that  I'm  more  afraid  o'  the 
squaws  than  o'  the  men.  Hows'ever,  it's  got  to 
be  done ! " 

So  saying.  Bounce  shouldered  the  keg,  and, 
shaking  his  comrade  by  the  hand,  as  if  he  felt 
that  he  might  be  parting  with  him  forever,  he 
glided  into  the  darkness  of  the  forest,  leaving 


1(54 


THE  WILD  MAN  OP  THE  WE3T. 


Gibauit  to  secrete  himself  on  the  side  of  a  mound, 
from  which  he  could  witness  all  that  went  on  in 
the  camp. 

From  this  point  of  observation  the  poor  Cana- 
dian beheld  what  was  not  calculated  to  allay  his 
fears.  The  camp  lay  in  a  hollow,  surrounded  by 
trees.  On  an  open  space  were  erected  several 
leal  hern  huts  or  tents,  in  the  midst  of  which 
blazed  a  large  camp  fire.  Round  this  the  forty 
wan'iors  w^ere  sealed,  eating  their  supper,  while 
a  number  of  squaws  w^ere  sitting  in  the  entrances 
to  their  tents  variously  engaged.  Horses  hobbled 
—  that  is,  with  the  fore-feet  tied  together  to 
prevent  their  running  away  —  were  cropping  the 
grass  close  to  the  tents.  Not  far  from  them, 
and  within  the  circle  of  light  cast  around  by  the 
fire,  stood  a  group  of  small  trees.  To  each  of 
these  was  tied  a  man,  and  Gibauit  had  no  diffi- 
culty in  making  them  out  to  be  his  unfortunate 
comrades. 

Occasionally,  as  he  gazed,  one  or  two  of  the 
old  Indian  women  went  up  to  these  helpless 
men,  with  a  yell  of  execration,  and,  brandishing 
scalping-knives  before  their  faces,  appeared  as  if 
about  to  plunge  them  into  their  hearts ;  but  their 
time  had  not  yet  come ;  the  hags  were  only  an- 
ticipating the  feast  of  butchery  that  awaited  them 
on  the  morrow." 

While  Gibauit  was  gazing  at  this  scene  with 
mingled  feelings  of  anxiety,  rage,  and  horror,  the 


BOUNCE  AND  HIS  FIRE-WATEB. 


165 


whole  band  of  Indians  suddenly  sprang  to  their 
feet  and  seized  their  weapons.  Almost  at  the 
same  momt-nt  Bounce  strode  into  the  circle  of 
light  and  deposited  his  cask  on  the  ground. 
Then,  making  signs  of  peace,  he  advanced 
toward  one  of  the  Indians,  who,  from  his  dress 
and  appearance,  seemed  to  be  the  chief,  and 
presented  him  with  a  piece  of  tobacco.  The 
chief  accepted  the  gift  in  silence. 

Bounce,  who  was  w^ell  acquainted  with  many 
of  the  dialects  of  that  region,  had  no  difficully  in 
making  himself  understood.  He  stated  that  he 
was  a  trapper,  that  he  had  come  to  that  country 
to  trade,  and  asivcd  whether  his  Indian  friends 
had  furs  to  dispose  of.  As  he  had  anticipated, 
the  savages  were  in  no  mood  to  treat  with  a  sol- 
itary man  who  was  entirely  in  their  power.  The 
chief,  who  evidently  suspected  that  he  was  a 
friend  of  the  prisoners,  instead  of  replying,  asked 
him  sarcastically  what  he  had  in  the  keg. 

"  Fire-water,"  replied  Bounce,  unhesitatingly. 

At  this  the  eyes  of  the  savages  sparkled  with 
delight.  Not  deigning  to  waste  more  time  with 
him,  they  seized  the  unfortunate  trapper,  and 
confronted  him  with  his  companions,  gazing 
earnestly  in  their  faces  the  while  to  observe 
whether  they  betrayed  any  sign  of  recognition. 

It  said  much  for  the  self-control  of  these  hardy 
men,  that,  although  their  comrade  was  thus  sud- 
denly and  unexpectedly  placed  before  them,  they 


ii 


M  ■ 


m 


166 


THE  WILD  MAN   OF  THE  WEST. 


did  not  permit  a  muscle  of  their  connienanccs  to 
change,  but  gazed  on  him  and  on  his  captors 
with  that  expression  of  defiant  contempt  with 
which  Indians  usually  meet  their  fate,  and  in 
which  they  are  equalled,  sometimes  even  outdone, 
by  the  unfortunate  white  trappers  who  chance  to 
fall  into  their  cruel  hands. 

And  well  was  it,  for  the  ??uccess  of  the  scheme, 
that  Theodore  Bertram's  nerves  had  received 
such  repeated  and  powerful  shocks  that  day,  that 
they  were  now  incapable  of  feeling.  He  had 
been  so  terribly  and  repeatedly  struck  with 
amazement  that  his  features  had  assumed  a 
settled  expression  of  surprise  that  could  not 
be  increased,  so  that  when  he  beheld  Bounce 
a  prisoner  before  him,  although  he  certainly  felt 
astonishment,  he  could  by  no  means  increase  the 
expression  of  that  sensation.  The  Indians, 
therefore,  passed  away  from  him  with  a  how  1  of 
derision,  and  tied  Bounce  to  a  tree  beside  his 
comrades,  concluding  that,  instead  of  a  plotter, 
they  had,  in  him,  made  another  lucky  capture. 
Anxiety  to  taste  their  beloved  beverage  had 
something  to  do  with  their  haste  in  this  matter, 
no  doubt.  ' 

No  one  who  has  not  seen  it  can  conceive  of 
the  intense  passion  the  North  American  Indian 
has  for  ardent  spirits.  He  seems  to  have  no 
power  of  restraint  whatever  when  the  opportu- 
nity of  indulging  that  passion  presents  itself. 


manner 


THE   EFFECTS   OF   FIRE-WATER. 


167 


The  head  of  the  keg  was  quickly  knocked  in, 
and  tlie  eyes  of  the  savages  seemed  positively  to 
flash  as  they  gazed  upon  the  precious  fluid. 
The  chief  advanced  first  with  a  little  tin  mug, 
Buch  as  was  sold  to  them  by  traders,  and  drank 
a  deep  draught;  he  then  handed  the  cup  to 
another,  but  the  itnpatience  of  the  others  could 
not  be  restrained;  they  crowded  round  with 
their  mugs,  and  dipping  them  into  the  keg,  drank 
eagerly,  while  the  squaws,  who  loved  the  fire- 
>^  ater  as  much  as  did  their  masters,  formed  an 
outer  circle,  and,  as  patiently  as  they  could, 
awaited  their  turn.  They  knew  full  well  that  it 
would  soon  come. 

The  Indians,  being  unaccustomed  to  frequent 
potations,  were  quickly  maddened  by  the  spirit, 
which  mounted  to  their  brains  and  rushed 
through  their  veins  like  wild-fire,  causing  every 
nerve  in  their  strong  frames  to  tingle.  Their 
characteristic  gravity  and  decofum  vanished. 
They  laughed,  they  danced,  they  sang,  they 
yelled,  like  a  troop  of  incarnate  fiends!  Then 
they  rushed  in  a  body  toward  their  prisoners, 
and  began  a  species  of  war-dance  round  them, 
flourishing  their  tomahawks  and  knives  close  to 
their  faces  as  if  iJiey  were  about  to  slay  them ; 
shrieking  and  howling  in  the  most  unearthly 
manner,  and  using  all  those  cruel  devices  that 
are  practised  by  Red  Indians  to  terrify  those 
unfortunates  whom  they  intend  ultimately  to  kllL 


,  r?jj^ 


J  68 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


il 


1'    I 


Suddenly  one  of  the  warriors  observed  that  the 
squaws  were  stealthily  approaching  the  spirit-keg, 
and  iushed  toward  them  with  a  howl  of  fury, 
followed  by  his  comrades,  who  drove  the  women 
away  and  recommenced  drinking.  And  now  a 
fiercer  spirit  seemed  to  seize  upon  the  savages; 
old  feuds  and  jealousies,  that  had  long  been  cher- 
ished in  silence,  broke  irresistibly  forth.  Angry 
words  and  fierce  looks  were  followed  by  the  draw- 
ing of  knives.  Suddenly  a  young  man  rushed 
upon  a  comrade  and  buried  his  knife  in  his  heart. 
The  piercing  death-cry  was  followed  by  the  venge- 
ful yell  of  the  relatives  of  the  murdered  man,  as 
they  sprang  upon  the  murderer.  Others  flew  to 
the  rescue,  and  the  drunken  meUe  became  general. 
Blood  began  to  flow  freely,  and  there  is  no  doubt 
that  many  lives  would  have  been  sacrificed  had 
not  the  combatants  been  too  much  intoxicated  to 
fight  with  vigor.  Many  of  them  fell  prostrate 
and  helpless  on  attempting  to  rise.  Others  dealt 
their  blows  at  random,  staggering  and  falling  one 
upon  another,  until  they  lay  in  a  heap,  shriek- 
ing, biting,  tearing,  and  stabbing — a  bloody 
struggling  mass,  which  told  more  eloquently 
than  tongue  can  tell,  that,  deep  and  low  though 
savage  human  nature  has  fallen  in  sin  and  mis- 
ery, there  is  a  depth  profounder  still,  to  which 
even  those  who  seem  to  be  the  lowest  may 
be  precipitated  by  the  fatal  power  of  strong 
drink. 


THE  nKT'XKFV  IIR'.WL. 


I'n'jrc  I  (IS. 


i 


And 

him  to 
to  be  re 
release 
event  o 
to  a  pre 

The 
prevent 
were  a] 
powers 
their  cc 
songs, 
rushed 
childrer 
share, 
been  of 
West,  1 
unless  ( 
water  a 

In  a 
as  help 
the  thoi 
free ! 

"The 
tram,  e 
had  tho 
it  was 
the  wil( 
to  save 
Under i 


GIBAULT  EELEASES  HIS  COMRADES. 


169 


And  nov7  Gibault  Noir  felt  that  it  was  time  for 
him  to  draw  near  io  the  hjrrible  scene,  in  order 
to  be  ready,  when  the  moment  should  arrive,  to 
release  the  prisoners,  or  to  protect  them  in  the 
event  of  any  of  the  drunken  crew  being  tempted 
to  a  pi'emature  slaughter. 

The  women  were  now  actively  interfering  to 
prevent  further  bloodshed.  Most  of  the  Indians 
were  already  dead  drunk.  Only  a  few,  whose 
powers  of  endurance  were  greater  than  those  of 
their  comrades,  continued  to  shout  their  war- 
songs.  When  these  were  down,  the  women 
rushed  at  the  spirits  like  wolves.  Even  the  little 
children  came  out  from  the  tents  and  got  their 
share.  It  was  a  terrible  scene,  such  as  has,  alas ! 
been  often  enacted  before  in  the  wilds  of  the  Far 
West,  and,  doubtless,  shall  be  enacted  again, 
unless  (so-called)  Christian  traders  give  up  fire- 
water as  an  article  of  traffic. 

In  a  very  short  space  of  time  the  women  were 
as  helpless  as  their  masters.  Then  Gibault  cut 
the  thongs  that  bound  his  comrades,  and  set  them 
free ! 

"  Thanks,  thanks  to  the  Almighty,"  said  Ber- 
tram, earnestly,  when  his  bonds  were  cut.  *'  I 
had  thought  that  my  days  were  numbered ;  that 
it  was  to  be  my  sad  fate  to  fill  a  gi-ave  here  in 
the  wilderness.  But  H,s  hand  is  indeed  mighty 
to  save.  And  thanks  be  to  you,  good  Gibault. 
Under  God  we  owe  our  lives  to  you." 

15        : 


: 


170 


THE  WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


': 


Bertram  attempted  to  seize  Gibault's  hand  as 
he  spoke,  but  his  own  hands  refused  obedience 
to  his  will.  They  had  been  so  long  and  so 
tightly  bound  that  they  were  utterly  powerless. 

"  Rub  'em,  rub  'ern  well,"  said  Gibault,  seizing 
the  artist's  hands  and  enforcing  his  own  recom- 
mendation vigorously. 

"  Ay,  that's  it,"  ^aid  Redhand,  who,  with  his 
companions,  had,  the  instant  he  was  loose,  com- 
menced to  rub  and  chafe  his  own  benumbed 
limbs  into  vitality,  as  if  his  life  and  theirs  de- 
pended on  their  exertions  —  as  indeed  they  did  to 
no  small  extent,  fc  r,  had  they  been  called  upon 
to  fight  or  fly  at  that  moment,  they  conld  have 
done  neither. 

"  Now,  lads,"  said  Bounce,  who,  having  b^er. . 
prisoner  for  but  a  short  time,  was  unhurt  by  ills 
bonds,  "  while  ye  rub  ;.i-^  life  into  yer  limbs  I'i] 
tell  ye  wot  we  must  do. 
to  the  prostrate  Liuians) 
Of    course,    bein'   white    men 


camps  (pointing 
lie  there   long, 
an'    Christians, 
we   don't  mean   to   kill  them   or  to  lift  their 

Bcalps " 

"  I've  know'd  white  men,"  interrupted  Red- 
hand,  "  who  called  themselves  Christians,  and 
didn't  object  to  take  scalps  when  they  got  the 
chance." 

"  So  have  I,"  returned  Bounce,  "  an'  m ore's 
the  pity.  It's  sich-iike  blackguards  as  these  that 
keeps  honest  trappers  and  fur-traders  for  iver  in 


bounce's  plan  accepted. 


171 


hot  water  here.  Howsomediver,  we*re  not  agoiii' 
to  turn  owrselves  into  brute  beasts  'cause  they're 
turned  theirselvea  into  sich." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  o'  that,"  broke  in  Big  Waller, 
casting  a  scowling  glance  on  the  savages  as  he 
surveyed  a  wound  in  his  left  arm,  which,  al- 
though not  serious,  from  want  of  dressing,  suffi- 
.ciently  painful,  "  I  calc'late  it  would  serve  them 
reptiles  right  if  we  was  to  whangskiver  the  whole 
on  'em  as  they  lie." 

"  I  don't  b'lieve,"  retorted  Bounce,  "  that 
<  whangskiver '  is  either  English,  Injun,  French, 
or  Yankee ;  but  if  it  means  killin^  you'll  do 
nothing  o'  the  sort.  Here's  what  we'll  do.  We'll 
ketch  as  many  horses  as  wos  took  from  Mr. 
Bertram's  fellers,  an'  as  many  guns  too  (the  same 
ones  if  we  can  lay  hands  on  'em),  an'  as  much 
powder  an'  shot  an'  other  things  as  that  keg  o' 
brandy  is  worth,  an'  then  we'll  bid  the  red-skins 
good-by  without  w^akenin'  of  'em  up." 

"  Goot,"  tjaculated  Gibault,  pausing  in  hi? 
manipulation  of  the  artist,  "  now^  you  can  do ! '' 

"  Capital;  thanks,  I  feel  quite  sirong  again." 

"  I  say,  Gibault,"  observed  March,  ruefully. 
"they've  almost  sawed  through  the  skin  o'  my 
ankle.  I've  no  left  foot  at  all,  as  far  as  feelin' 
goes." 

"  Hah  I  me  boy,  'tis  well  you  have  foot  left, 
though  you  not  feel  left  foot'-    Let  me  see." 

"  That's  it,  'xibault,  rub  away ;  if  your  jokes 


\\ 


"i 


172 


THE  WILD   MAN   OP  THE   WEST. 


were  as  good  as  your  surgery  you'd  be  too  good, 
a  long  way,  for  the  backwoods." 

By  dint  of  chafing  and  rubbing  and  leaping 
and  stamping,  the  whole  party  were  soon  restored 
to  a  serviceable  condition,  after  which  they  set 
about  active  preparations  for  departure. 

First  they  ransacked  the  tents,  where  they 
discovered  all  the  giins  that  had  been  taken 
from  Bertram's  party.  These  they  tied  up  in 
a  bundle,  after  each  had  secured  one  for  hig 
own  use.  Among  them  the  artist  found,  to  his 
intense  delight,  his  own  double-barrelled  gun,  the 
loss  of  which  he  had  mourned  most  sincerely. 

Next,  Ihey  secured  the  horses,  which,  being 
hobbled,  as  we  have  said  elsewhere,  were  easily 
caught.  Then  the  powder-horns  and  shot-beI1s 
of  Bertram's  pnrty  were  found,  and,  being  full  of 
ammunition,  were  slung  across  their  shoulders 
forthwith.  Among  other  things  belonging  to  the 
same  party  were  discovered  a  number  of  blankets, 
some  tea  and  sugar,  and  a  variety  of  other  useful 
articles,  besides  several  packs  of  furs :  all  of 
which  were  made  up  into  portable  bundles  that 
could  be  easily  carried  at  their  saddle-bows. 
The  supply  of  every  thing  was  so  ample  that  it 
was  not  necessary  to  touch  a  single  article  be- 
onging  to  the  Indians. 

This  was  a  matter  of  much  satisfaction  to 
Redhand,  who  wished  to  rhow  these  unfoitunaie 
children  of  the  wilderness   that   there    were   ut 


. 


DEEP   SORROW   OF   REDUAND. 


173 


lenst  some  white  trappers  who  were  actuated  by 
diflerent  and  kindlier  feelings  than  many  who 
soaght  their  livelihood  in  those  regions. 

"  Hullo  !  wot  have  we  here  ?  "  cried  Big  Wal- 
ler, who  was  poking  inquisitively  about  among 
the  tents,  to  Ihe  consternation  of  the  poor  Indian 
children,  who  lay  huddled  up  in  their  rabbit-skin 
blankets,  trembling  from  head  to  foot,  and  ex- 
pecting to  be  scalped  forthwith,  —  such  of  them, 
at  least,  as  were  old  enough  to  expect  any  thing. 
«  Here's  your  blunderbusses,  I  guess,  mister.'* 

"  What!  my  pistols,"  cried  Bertram,  seizing  his 
weapons  with  as  much  delight  as  if  they  had 
been  really  serviceable. 

"  Hah !  ver'  goot  for  play  vid,"  observed 
Glbaalt,  contetnpluousiy. 

"  I  say,  here's  something  else,"  said  Bounce, 
picking  up  a  rifle. 

"  Wah !  "  exclaimed  Hawkswing,  pointing  to 
the  weapon  in  surprise,  and  turning  his  eyes  on 
Redhand. 

"  Wot  I  d'ye  know  who  it  belonged  to  ?  " 
inquired  Bounce. 

An  e.ipression  of  deep  sorrow  overspread  Red- 
hand's  countenance.  "  Ay,"  said  he,  mournfuily, 
I  know  it  well.  It  belonged  to  young  Blake." 
Glancing  quickly  up  at  a  place  where  several 
Bcalps  were  hanging  to  a  pole,  he  took  one  down, 
and,  after  gazing  at  it  sadly  for  a  few  seconds,  he 
added,  in  a  tone  of  deep  melancholy  —  "Poor, 


I'l 


15* 


f 


174 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


poor  Blake !  ye  had  a  hearty  spirit  an'  a  kindly 
heart.     Your  huntin'  days  are  soon  over ! " 

"  Was  he  a  friend  of  yours  ?  "  inquired  Ber- 
tram, aflfected  by  the  old  trapper's  look  and 
tone. 

"  Ay,  ay,  he  was,  he  was,"  said  Redhand, 
quickly,  and  with  a  sternness  of  manner  that 
surprised  his  companions;  " come,  lads,  mount ! 
mount !  The  redskins  won't  part  with  plunder 
without  making  an  effort  to  get  it  back." 

"  But,  stop  a  bit,  Redhand,"  cried  Bounce, 
detaining  the  old  man,  "ye  did'nt  use  for  to  be 
BO  hot  an'  hasty.  Where  are  we  to  go  to  ?  That's 
wot  I  want  to  know." 

"  True,"  observed  Redhand,  in  his  old  gentle 
tones,  "  we've  more  horses  than  we  need,  and 
some  furs  to  dispose  of.  There's  a  tradin'  fort  in 
th{*  mountains,  but  it's  a  good  bit  from  this." 

"  What  o'  that  ?  "  said  March  Marston,  some- 
what impetuously,  "  are  we  not  armed  and  well 
mounted,  and  strong,  and  have  we  not  lots  o' 
time  before  us  ?  " 

"  Well  said,"  cried  Bounce. 

«  Ditto,"  echoed  WaUer. 

"  Then  we'll  do  it ! "  cried  Redhand,  vaulting 
into  the  saddle  with  a  spring  that  a  young  man 
might  have  envied. 

The  others  followed  his  example,  and  in  a  few 
seconds  they  were  picking  their  way  carefuUy 
down  the  ravine  in  which  the  Indian  camp  was 


OUT   ON   THE  PRAIRIE. 


175 


situated.  Leaving  this  quicldy  behind,  they 
trotted  briskly  along  the  more  open  banks  of  the 
river  until  they  gained  a  level  sweep  of  land  which 
terminated  in  a  belt  of  low  bushes.  Beyond  this 
lay  the  great  plains.  Breaking  into  a  gallop,  they 
speedily  cleared  the  underwood,  and  just  as  the 
rosy  smile  of  morning  beamed  in  the  eastern  sky, 
they  dashed  away,  with  light  hearts  and  loose 
reins,  out  upon  the  springy  turf  of  the  open 
prairie. 


176 


THE  WILD  MAN  OP  THE  WEST. 


CHAPTER    X. 


Snort  Trca'ise  on  Horseflesh.  —  Remarks  on   Slang.  —  Doings  and 
and  Siglita  on  the  rrah'ie.  —  The  Mountaui  Fort. 

A  HORSE  is  a  wonderful  thing  —  if  we  may  pre- 
Bume  to  style  so  noble  a  creature  "  a  thing ! "  And 
the  associations  connected  in  some  minds  with  a 
horse  are  wonderful  associations.  No  doubt  a 
horse,  to  many  people,  is  a  common-place  enough 
sort  of  thing ;  and  the  associations  connected  with 
horseflesh  in  general,  in  some  minds  are  decidedly 
low  —  having  relation  to  tugging  a  cart,  or  tum- 
bling along  with  a  plough,  or  rattling  with  a  cab, 
or  prancing  in  a  carriage,  or  being  cut  up  into 
butcher's  meat  for  cats  and  dogs.  Nevertheless, 
a  horse  is  a  wonderful  creature  ;  and  man's  asso- 
ciations in  connection  with  him  are,  not  un- 
frequently,  of  the  most  wonderful  and  romantic 
kind.  Talk  to  the  warrior  of  his  steed,  and  he 
will  speak  of  him  as  of  his  dearest  friend.  Talk 
to  the  Arab  of  his  horse,  and  he  will  talk  of  his 
pet,  his  spoiled  child !  As  it  is  with  these,  so  is 
it  with  the  trapper  of  the  western  prairies. 

After  a  few  weeks'  acquaintance,  the  trapper 
and  his  horse  become  one  —  part  and  parcel  of 
each  other,  at  least  so  far  as  it  is  possible  for 


THE   TRAPPER   AND   HIS   HORSE. 


177 


man  and  horse  to  amalgamate.  On  the  one 
hand,  the  horse  is  tended,  hobbled,  patted,  sad- 
dled, spoken  to,  watched  over,  and  tenderly  cared 
for  by  the  man ;  on  the  other  hand,  the  man  is 
carried,  respected,  sometimes  bitten  (playfully), 
depended  on,  and  loved  by  the  horse.  Day  after 
day,  and  week  after  week,  the  limbs  of  the  one 
and  the  ribs  of  the  other  are  pressed  against  each 
other,  until  they  become  all  but  united,  and  the 
various  play  of  muscles  on  the  part  of  both 
becomes  so  delicately  significant  that  the  bridle, 
to  a  great  extent,  becomes  unnecessary,  and  the 
rider  feels  when  the  horse  is  about  to  shy,  just  as 
quickly  as  the  horse  feels,  by  a  gentle  pressure 
on  either  side,  how  much  the  rider  wishes  him 
to  diverge  to  the  right  or  left. 

Sometimes  the  horse  breaks  his  hobbles  and 
runs  away,  thus  aggravating  the  spirits  of,  and 
causing  infinite  annoyance  to,  the  man.  Fre- 
quently the  man,  out  of  revenge  for  such  or 
similar  freaks,  larrups  and  pains  and  worries  the 
horse.  But  these  little  asperities  are  the  occa- 
sional landmarks  that  give  point  and  piquancy 
to  the  even  tenor  of  their  loving  career.  Neither 
;vould,  for  a  moment,  think  of  allowing  such 
uicidents  to  rankle  in  his  bosom.  Both  would 
repudiate  with  scorn  the  idea  that  they  were  a 
whit  less  useful,  or  in  any  degree  less  attached 
to  each  other  on  account  of  such  trifling  tiffs ! 

Da.j    jfter  day,  our  trappers   mounted  thei/ 


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V 


178 


THE  WILD  MAN  OP  THE  WEST. 


steeds  and  traversed  the  great  prairie  —  now  at  a 
rattling  trot,  now  at  a  tearing  gallop ;  frequently 
at  a  quiet  foot-pace,  when  the  nature  of  the 
ground  rendered  a  more  rapid  progress  danger- 
ous, or  when  the  exhaustion  of  horses  and  men 
rendered  rest  necessary,  or  when  the  beautiful 
nature  of  the  scenery  and  the  warm,  sunny  con- 
dition of  the  atmosphere  induced  a  contempla- 
tive frame  of  mind  and  a  placid  state  of  body. 

Night  after  night,  the  horses  —  having  stuffed 
themselves,  like  greedy  things  as  they  were,  with 
the  greenest  and  tenderest  herbage  on  the  rich 
plains  —  returned  to  the  camp  fire  round  which 
the  trappers  were  lying  in  deep  slumber,  and 
each  selecting  his  own  master,  would  stand  over 
him  with  drooping  head  and  go  to  sleep,  until 
dawn  called  them  again  to  united  action. 

Thus  day  and  night  passed  for  the  space  of 
three  weeks  after  the  night  of  the  surprise  of 
the  Indian  camp,  without  any  thing  particular 
occurring;  and  thus  quadrupeds  and  bipeds 
came  to  be  so  familiar  and  well  acquainted  with 
each  other  —  so  thoroughly  united  in  sympa- 
thetic action  —  as  almost  to  become  hexapeds,  if 
we  may  be  permitted  the  expression. 

March  Marston's  quadruped  was  a  beautiful 
little  bay,  whose  tendency  to  bound  over  every 
little  stick  and  stone,  as  if  it  were  a  five-barred 
gate,  and  to  run  away  upon  any  and  every  occa- 
sion, admirably  suited  the  tastes  and  inclinations 
of  its  mercurial  rider. 


ON  SLANG. 


179 


There  was  one  among  the  quadrupeds  which 
was  striking  in  appearance  —  not  to  say  stun- 
ning.    No ;  we  won't  say  stunning,  because  that 
is  a  slang  expression,  and  many  persons  object 
to  slang  expressions ;  therefore  we  will  avoid  that 
word ;  although  we  confess  being  unable  to  see 
why,  if  it  is  allowable  (as  every  one  will  admit 
it    is)   to   assert    that    men   may  be   mentally 
"  struck,"  it  is  not  equally  proper  to  say  that  they 
may   be   stunned.     But  we   bow  to   prejudice. 
We  won't  say  that  the  horse  was  "  stunning." 
While   on   this   subject,   we   think   it  right  to 
guard  ourself,  parenthetically,  from  the  charge  of 
being  favorable  to  all  kinds  of  slang.     We  are 
in  favor  of  speech  —  yes,  we  assert  that  broadly 
and  fearlessly,  without  reservation  —  but  we  are 
not  in  favor  of  all  speech.     Coarse  speech,  for 
instance,  we  decidedly  object  to.     So  we  are  in 
favor  of  slang,  but  not  of  all  slang.     There  are 
some  slang  words  which  are  used   instead  of 
oaths,   and    these,  besides    bemg    wicked,  are 
exceedingly  contemptible.     Tempting,  however, 
they  are  —  too  apt  to  slip  from  the  tongue  and 
from  the  pen,  and  to  cause  regret  afterwards. 

But  to  return.  Although  we  won't  say  thai 
the  quadruped  in  question  was  stunning,  we  will 
say  again  that  it  was  striking  —  to  powerfully 
striking  that  the  force  of  the  stroke  was  calcu- 
lated almost  to  stun.  It  was  uncommonly  tall, 
remarkably  short  in  the  body,  and  had  a  piebald 


180 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


coat.  Morever,  it  had  no  tail  —  to  speak  of —  aa 
that  member  had,  in  some  unguarded  moment, 
got  into  the  blaze  of  the  camp  fire  and  been 
burnt  off  close  to  the  stump.  The  stump,  how- 
ever, was  pretty  long,  and,  at  the  time  when  the 
trappers  became  possessed  of  the  animal,  that 
appendage  was  covered  with  a  new  growth  of 
sparsely  scattered  and  very  stiff  hair,  about  three 
inches  long,  so  that  it  resembled  a  gigantic  bot- 
tle-brush. Being  a  spirited  animal,  the  horse  had 
a  lively  bottle-brush,  which  was  grotesque,  if  it 
was  nothing  else. 

This  quadruped's  own  particular  biped  was 
Theodore  Bertram.  He  had  a  peculiar  liking  for 
it  (as  he  had  for  every  thing  picturesque),  not 
only  on  account  of  its  good  qualities  —  which 
were  an  easy  gait  and  a  tender  mouth  —  but  also 
because  it  was  his  own  original  animal,  that  of 
whicli  he  had  been  deprived  by  the  Indians,  and 
which  he  had  recaptured  with  feelings  akin  to 
those  of  a  mother  who  recovers  a  long-lost 
child. 

We  have  said  that  the  space  of  three  weeks 
passed  without  any  thing  particular  occurring 
to  our  trappers.  This  remark,  however,  must 
be  taken  in  a  limited  sense.  Nothing  particu- 
larly connected  with  the  thread  of  this  story 
occurred;  though  very  many  and  particularly 
interesting  things  of  a  minor  nature  did  occur 
during  the  course  of  that  period. 


DOINGS   ON  THE  PBAIBIE. 


181 


It  would  require  a  work  equal  in  size  to  the 
•*  EncyclopoBdia  Britannica"  to  contain  all  the 
interesting  things  that  were  said  and  seen  and 
dont'  on  those  prairies  by  these  trappers  within 
that  brief  space  of  time.  A  conscientiously  par- 
ticular chronicler  of  events  would  have  detailed 
the  route  of  each  day,  the  latitude  and  longitude 
of  each  resting-place,  the  very  nature  of  the  wood 
which  composed  the  fuel  of  each  fire.  He  would 
have  recorded  that  March  Marston's  little  bay 
ran  away  with  him  (not,  in  a  general  way,  fifty 
or  a  hundred  times,  but)  exactly  so  many  times, 
specifying  the  concomitant  circumstances  of  each 
separate  time,  and  the  results  of  each  particular 
race.  He  would  have  noted,  with  painful  accu- 
racy, the  precise  number  of  times  in  which  Theo- 
dore Bertram  (being  a  bad  rider)  fell  off  his  horse, 
or  was  pitched  off"  in  consequence  of  that  quad- 
ruped putting  its  foot  inadvertently  into  badger- 
holes.  He  would  have  mentioned  that  on  each 
occasion  the  unfortunate  artist  blackened  his  eye, 
or  bled  or  skinned  his  nasal  organ,  and  would 
have  dilated  anatomically  on  the  peculiar  color 
of  the  disfigured  orb  and  the  exact  amount  of 
damage  done  to  the  bruised  nose.  He  would 
have  told  not  only  the  general  fact  that  bears,  and 
elks,  and  antelopes,  and  prairie-dogs,  and  wolves, 
and  buffaloes,  were  seen  in  great  numbers  contin- 
ually, and  were  shot  in  abundance,  but  he  would 
have  recorded  that  Bertram  did,  on  one  occasion, 

16 


i82 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


ill  the  height  of  his  enthusiastic  daring,  give  a 
shout  and  draw  one  of  his  blunderbuss  pistols,  on 
observing  a  grisly  bear  at  a  short  distance  ahead 
of  him  ;  that  he  dashed  his  heels  violently  against 
the  sides  of  his  remarkable  horse ;  that  the  said 
horse  did  tot.  his  head,  shake  his  bottle-brush, 
and  rush  full-tilt  toward  the  bear  until  he  caught 
eight  of  it,  when  he  turned  off  at  a  sharp  angle, 
leaving  Bertram  on  the  plain  at  the  mercy  of  the 
bear ;  that  Bruin,  who  was  in  nowise  alarmed, 
observing  his  condition,  came  to  see  what  was 
the  matter  with  him ;  and  that  he,  Mr.  Bertram, 
would  cctainly  have  fallen  a  victim  to  his  own 
headstrong  courage  on  the  one  hand,  and  to  the 
bear's  known  tendency  to  rend  human  beings  on 
the  other,  had  not  March  come  up  at  that  mo- 
ment and  shot  it  through  the  heart,  while  Red- 
hand  shot  it  through  the  brain. 

And  this  supposed  conscientious  chronicler  of 
events,  had  he  been  a  naturalist,  would  have  fur- 
ther detailed,  with  graphic  particularity,  the  rich, 
exuberant,  and  varied  flora  of  the  region  —  from 
the  largest  plant  that  waved  and  blossomed  in  the 
prairie-winds  to  the  lowliest  flowret  that  nestled 
among  the  tender  and  sweet-scented  grasses  on 
the  prairie's  breast.  In  regard  to  the  fauna 
of  those  regions,  he  would  have  launched  out 
upon  the  form,  the  color,  size,  habits,  peculiari- 
ties, &c.,  of  every  living  thing,  from  the  great 
buffalo  (which  he  would  have  carefully  explained 


MARCH  BECOMES  MADDER  THAN  EVER.       183 

was  not  the  buffalo,  but  the  bison)  down  to  the 
sly,  impudent,  yet  harmless  little  prairie-dog 
(which  he  would  have  also  carefully  noted  was 
not  the  prairie-dog,  but  the  marmot). 

Had  this  supposed  recorder  of  facts  been  of  an 
erratic  nature,  given  to  wander  from  anecdote  to 
description,  and  vice  versd,  he  would  perhaps  have 
told,  in  a  parenthetical  sort  of  way,  how  that, 
during  these  three  weeks,  the  trappers  enjoyed 
uninterrupted  fine  weather;  how  the  artist 
sketched  so  indefatigably  that  he  at  last  filled 
his  book  to  overflowing  and  had  to  turn  it  up- 
side down,  begin  at  the  end,  and  sketch  on  the 
backs  of  his  previous  drawings ;  how  Big  Waller 
and  Black  Gibault  became  inseparable  friends 
and  sang  duets  together  when  at  full  gallop,  the 
latter  shrieking  like  a  wild  cat,  the  former  roaring 
like  a  buffalo  bull ;  how  March  Marston  became 
madder  than  ever,  and  infected  his  little  steed 
with  the  same  disease,  so  that  the  two  together 
formed  a  species  of  insane  compound  that  caused 
Redhand  and  Bounce  to  give  vent  to  many  a  low 
chuckle  and  many  a  deep  sagacious  remark,  and 
induced  Hawkswing  to  gaze  at  it  —  the  com- 
pound—  in  grave  astonishment. 

All  this  and  a  great  deal  more  might  be  told, 
and, 'no  doubt,  might  prove  deeply  interesting. 
But,  as  no  man  can  do  every  thing,  so  no  man  can 
record  every  thing ;  therefore  we  won't  attempt  it, 
but  shall  at  once,  and  without  further  delay,  pro- 


-.    I    :^—f^---^'' 


2li^i^J^;C!Vav.*^^* 


184 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


ceed  to  that  part  of  our  tale  which  bears  moro 
directly  on  the  Rocky  Mountains  and  the  Wild 
Man  of  the  West  himself. 

"  It's  a  strong  place,"  said  Redhand,  checking 
the  pace  of  his  horse  and  pointing  to  a  small  edifice 
or  fort  which  stood  on  the  summit  of  a  little 
mound  or  hill  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  ad- 
vance of  them  —  "a  very  strong  place  —  such  as 
would  puzzle  the  redskins  to  break  into  if  de- 
fended by  men  of  ordinary  pluck." 

"  Men  of  pluck  sometimes  get  careless,  and  go 
to  sleep,  though,"  said  March  Marston,  riding  up 
to  the  old  trapper;  "  I've  heard  o'  such  forts  bein' 
taken  by  redskins  before  now." 

"  So  hav  3 1,  lad,  so  have  I,"  returned  Redhand ; 
"  Fve  heard  o'  a  fort  bein'  attacked  by  Injuns 
when  the  men  were  away  huntin',  an*  bein'  burnt 
down.  But  it  ginerally  turns  out  that  the  whites 
have  had  themselves  to  thank  for't." 

"  Ay,  that's  true,"  observed  Bounce ;  "  some  o' 
the  whites  ih  them  parts  is  no  better  nor  they 
should  be.  They  treats  the  poor  Injuns  as  if  they 
wos  dogs  or  varmints,  an'  then  they're  astonished 
if  the  redskins  murder  them  out  o'  revenge.  I 
know'd  one  feller  as  told  me  that  when  he  lived 
on  the  west  side  o'  the  mountains,  where  some  of 
the  Injuns  are  a  murderin'  set  o'  thieves,  he  niver 
lost  a  chance  o'  killin'  a  redskin.  Of  course 
the  redskins  niver  lost  a  chance  o'  killin' 
the  whites;   an'  so  they  come  to  aich  a  state 


MABRTING  FOR  PEACE. 


185 


o'  war,  that  they  had  to  make  peace  by  givin' 
them  no  end  o'  presents  o'  guns  an*  cloth 
an'  beads  —  enough  to  buy  up  the  furs  o'  a 
whole  tribe." 

"  I  guess  they  was  powerful  green  to  do  any 
thing  o'  the  sort,"  said  Big  Waller;  "  I  know'd  a 
feller  as  was  in  command  of  a  party  o'  whites, 
who  got  into  much  the  same  sort  of  fix  with  the 
Injuns  —  always  fightin'  and  murderin* ;  so  what 
does  he  do,  think  ye  ?  " 

"  Shooted  de  chief  and  all  hims  peepil,"  sug- 
gested Gibault. 

"Nothin'  o'  the  sort,"  replied  Waller.  "He 
sends  for  the  chief,  an'  gives  him  a  grand  present, 
an'  says  he  wants  to  marry  his  darter.  An'  so  he 
did  marry  his  darter,  right  off,  an'  the  whites  an* 
redskins  was  friends  ever  after  that.  The  man 
what  did  that  was  a  gentleman  too — so  they  said ; 
tho'  for  my  part  I  don't  know  wot  a  gentleman 
is — no  more  do  I  b'lieve  there  ain't  sich  a  thing; 
but  if  there  be,  an'  it  means  any  thing  good,  I 
calc'late  that  that  man  wos  a  gentleman,  for  w'en 
he  grew  old  he  took  his  old  squaw  to  Canada  with 
him,  'spite  the  larfin'  o'  his  comrades,  who  said 
he'd  have  to  sot  up  a  wigwam  for  her  in  his  gar- 
den. But  he  says,  *  No,'  says  he,  *  I  married 
the  old  ooman  for  better  an'  for  worse,  an'  I'll 
stick  by  her  to  the  last.  There's  too  many  o'  you 
chaps  as  leaves  yer  wives  behind  ye  when  ye  go 
home  —  I'm  detarmined  to  sot  ye  a  better  ex- 

16* 


■■t>^ 


186 


THE  WILD  MAN  OP  THE  WEST. 


wv 


ample/  An'  so  he  did.  F.e  tuk  her  home  an' 
put  her  in  a  grand  house  in  some  town  in  Canada 
^  I  don't  well  mind  which, — but  when  he  wasn't 
watchin'  of  her,  the  old  ooman  would  squat  down 
on  the  carpet  in  the  drawin'-room,  for,  d'ye  see, 
she  hadn't  bin  used  to  chairs.  His  frinds  Ubcd  to 
advise  him  to  put  her  away,  an'  the  kindlier  sort 
said  he  should  give  her  a  room  to  herself,  and  not 
bring  her  into  company  where  she  vvarn't  at  ease ; 
but  no,  the  old  man  said  always,  *  She's  my  law- 
ful wedded  wife,  an'  if  she  was  a  buffalo  cow  I'd 
stick  by  her  to  the  last '  —  an'  so  he  did." 

"  Vraiment  he  was  von  cur'ous  creetur,"  ob- 
served Gibault. 

"  See,  they  have  descried  us ! "  exclaimed  Ber- 
tram, pointing  to  the  fort,  which  they  were  now 
approaching,  and  where  a  bustle  among  the  in- 
habitants showed  that  their  visitors  were  not 
always  peacefully  disposed,  and  that  it  behoved 
them  to  regard  strangers  with  suspicion. 

"  Would  it  not  be  well  to  send  one  of  our 
party  on  in  advance  with  a  white  flag?"  ob- 
served Bertram. 

"  No  need  for  that,"  replied  Redhand,  "  they're 
used  to  all  kinds  o'  visitors  —  friends  as  well  as 
foes.  I  fear,  however,  .from  the  haste  they  show 
in  closing  their  gate  that  they  aint  on  good  terms 
with  the  Injuns." 

The  redmen  and  the  pale-faces  are  at  war," 
Baid  Hawkswing. 


w... 


ARRIVAL  AT  THE  FORT. 


187 


"  Ay,  you're  used  to  the  signs,  no  doubt,"  re- 
turned Redhand,  "for  you've  lived  here  once 
upon  a  time,  I  b'lieve." 

The  Indian  made  no  reply,  but  a  dark  frown 
overspread  his  countenance  for  a  few  minutes. 
When  it  passed,  his  features  settled  down  into 
their  usual  state  of  quiet  gravity. 

"  Have  ye  ever  seed  that  fort  before  ? "  in- 
quired Bounce,  in  the  Indian  tongue. 

"  I  have,"  answered  Hawkswing.  "  Many 
moons  have  passed  since  I  was  in  this  spot.  My 
nation  was  strong  then.  It  is  weak  now.  Few 
braves  are  left.  We  sometimes  carried  our  furs 
to  that  fort  to  trade  with  the  pale-faces.  It  is 
called  the  Mountain  Fort.  The  chief  of  the  pale- 
faces was  a  bad  man  then.  He  loved  fire-water 
too  much.  If  he  is  there  still,  I  do  not  wonder 
that  there  is  war  between  him  and  the  redraen." 

"  That's  bad,"  said  Bounce,  shaking  his  head 
slowly  —  "  very  bad  ;  for  the  redskins  '11  kill  us 
if  they  can,  on  account  o*  them  rascally  fur- 
traders.  Howsoever  we  can't  mend  it,  so  we 
must  bear  it." 

As  Bounce  uttered  this  consolatory  remark, 
the  party  cantered  up  to  the  open  space  in  front 
of  the  gate  of  the  fort,  just  above  which  a  man 
VN^as  seen  quietly  leaning  over  the  wooden  walls 
of  the  place  with  a  gun  resting  on  his  arm. 

"  Hallo ! "  shouted  this  individual,  when  they 
;ame  within  hail. 


w-  I 


188 


THB  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


"  Hallo !  •'  responded  Bounce. 

"  Friends  or  foes,  and  where  from  ?  "  inquired 
the  laconic  guardian  of  the  fort. 

"  Friends,"  replied  Redhand,  riding  forward, 
"  we  come  from  the  Yellowstone.  Have  lost 
some  of  our  property,  but  got  some  of  it  back 
and  want  to  trade  furs  with  you." 

To  this  the  sentinel  made  no  reply,  but,  look- 
ing straight  at  Big  Waller,  inquired  abruptly,  — 
«  Are  you  the  Wild  Man  ?  " 

"  Wot  wild  man?  "  said  Waller,  gruffly. 

«  Why,  the  Wild  Man  o'  the  West." 

"  No,  I  hain't,"  said  Waller,  still  more  gruflly, 
for  he  did  not  feel  flattered  by  the  question. 

"  Have  you  seen  him  ?  *' 

"  No,  I  hain't,  an'  guess  I  shouldn't  know  \u:n 
if  I  had." 

"  Why  do  you  ask  ?  "  inquired  March  Mars- 
ton,  whose  curiosity  had  been  roused  by  tht-^e 
unexpected  questions. 

"  Cause  I  want  to  know,"  replied  the  man, 
quitting  his  post  and  disappearing.  In  a  few 
minutes  he  opened  the  gate,  and  the  trappers 
trotted  into  the  square  of  the  fort. 

The  Mountain  Fort,  in  which  they  now  dis- 
mounted, was  one  of  those  little  wooden  erec- 
tions in  which  the  hardy  pioneers  of  the  fur-lrade 
were  wont  in  days  of  old  to  establish  themselves, 
in  the  very  heart  of  the  Indian  country.  Such 
forts  may  still  be  seen  in  precisely  similar  cir 


INTERT^n  OF  THE  FORT. 


189 


cumstances,  and  built  in  the  same  manner,  at 
the  present  day,  in  the  Hudson*s  Bay  territories ; 
with  this  difTerence  that  the  Indians,  having  had 
long  experience  of  the  good  intentions  and  the 
kindness  of  the  pale-faces,  no  longer  regard  them 
with  suspicion.  The  walls  were  made  of  strong 
tall  palisades,  with  bastions  built  of  logs  at  the 
corners,  and  a  gallery  miming  all  round  inside 
close  to  the  top  of  the  walls,  so  that  the  defend* 
ers  of  the  place  could  fire  over  the  palisades,  if 
need  be,  at  their  assailants.  There  was  a  small 
iron  cannon  in  each  bastion.  One  large  gate 
formed  the  entrance,  but  this  was  only  opened 
to  admit  horsemen  or  carts ;  a  small  wicket  in 
one  leaf  of  the  gate  formed  the  usual  entrance. 

The  buildings  within  the  fort  consisted  of  three 
little  houses,  one  being  a  store,  the  others  dwell- 
ing-houses, about  which  several  men  and  women 
and  Indian  children,  besides  a  number  of  dogs, 
were  grouped.  These  immediately  surrounded 
the  trappers  as  they  dismounted.  "  Who  com- 
mands here  ?  "  inquired  Redhand. 

"I  do,"  said  the  sentinel  before  referred  to, 
pushing  aside  the  others  and  stepping  forward, 
"  at  least  I  do  at  present  My  name's  McLeod. 
He  who  ought  to  command  is  drunk.  He's 
always  drunk." 

There  was  a  savage  gruffness  in  the  way  in 
yhich  Mcl^eod  said  this  that  surprised  the  vis- 


19Q 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


itors,  for  his  sturdy-looking  and  honest  counte- 
nance seemed  to  accord  ill  with  such  tones. 

"  An'  may  I  ask  who  he  is  ?  "  said  Redhand. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  his  name's  Macgregor  —  you  can't 
see  him  to-night,  though.  There  '11  be  bloody 
work  here  before  long  if  he  don't  turn  over  a 
new  leaf " 

McLeod  checked  himself  as  if  he  felt  that  he 
had  gone  too  far.  Then  he  added  in  a  tone  that 
seemed  much  more  natural  to  him  —  "  Now,  sirs, 
come  this  way.  Here  "  (turning  to  the  men  who 
stood  by),  "  look  to  these  horses  and  see  them 
fed.  Come  into  the  hall,  friends,  an'  the  squaws 
will  prepare  something  for  you  to  eat  while  we 
have  a  smoke  and  a  talk  together." 

So  saying,  this  changeable  man,  who  was  a 
strange  compound  of  a  trapper  and  a  gentleman, 
led  the  way  to  the  principal  dwelling-house,  and, 
throwing  open  the  door,  ushered  his  quests  into 
the  reception-hall  of  the  Mountain  Fort. 


THE  RECEPTION-HALL. 


191 


CHAPTER    XI. 


Original  Eflbrts  in  the  Art  of  Painting.  —  Fur-trading  Hospitality.  — 
Wonderful  Accounts  of  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West,  I'ram  an  E^'e- 
witness.  —  Buffalo-hunting,  Scalping,  Murdering,  and  a  Summary 
Method  of  inflicting  Punishment. 

The  reception-hall  of  the  Mountain  Fort,  into 
which,  as  we  have  stated,  the  trappers  were  ushered 
by  McLeod,  was  one  of  those  curious  apartments 
which  were  in  those  days  (and  in  a  few  cases 
still  are)  created  for  the  express  purpose  of  "  as- 
tonishing the  natives ! " 

It  was  a  square  room,  occupying  the  centre  of 
the  house,  and  having  doors  all  round,  which 
opened  into  the  sleeping  or  other  departments  of 
the  dwelling.  In  the  front  wall  of  this  room  were 
the  door,  which  led  direct  into  the  open  air,  and 
the  two  windows.  There  were  no  passages  in  the 
house  —  it  was  all  rooms  and  doors.  One  of  these 
doors,  toward  the  back,  opened  into  a  species  of 
scullery  —  but  it  was  not  exactly  a  scullery,  neither 
was  it  a  kitchen,  neither  was  it  a  pantry.  The 
squaws  lived  there — especially  the  cooking-squaws 
—  and  a  few  favored  dogs.  A  large  number 
of  pots  and  pans  and  kettles,  besides  a  good 
deal  of  lumber  and  provisions  in  daily  use,  also 


192 


THE  WILD  MAN  OP  THE  WEST. 


'¥■* 


dwelt  there.  A  door  led  from  this  room  out  to 
the  back  of  the  house,  and  into  a  small  ofF-shoot, 
which  was  the  kitchen  proper.  Here  a  spirited 
Prench  Canadian  reigned  sr  ireme  in  the  midst 
of  food,  fire,  and  steam,  smoke,  smells,  and  fat. 

But,  to  return  to  the  reception-hall.  There 
were  no  pictures  on  its  walls,  no  draperies  about 
its  windows,  no  carpets  on  its  floors,  no  cloths  on 
its  tables,  and  no  ornaments  on  its  mantel-shelf. 
Indeed,  there  was  no  mantel-shelf  to  put  orna- 
ments upon.  The  floor,  the  walls,  the  ceiUng, 
the  chairs,  the  tables,  aU  were  composed  of 
the  same  material  —  wood.  The  splendor  of 
the  apartment  was  entirely  due  to  paint.  Every 
thing  was  painted  —  and  that  with  a  view  solely 
to  startling  effect.  Blue,  red,  and  yellow,  in  their 
most  brilliant  purity,  were  laid  on  in  a  variety  of 
original  devices,  and  with  a  boldness  of  contrast 
that  threw  Moorish  effort  in  that  line  quite  into 
the  shade.  The  Alhambra  was  nothing  to  it! 
The  floor  was  yellow  ochre ;  the  ceiling  was  sky- 
blue  ;  the  cornices  were  scarlet,  with  flutings  of 
blue  and  yellow,  and,  underneath,  a  broad  belt  of 
fruit  and  foliage,  executed  in  an  extremely  ara- 
besque style.  The  walls  were  light  green,  with 
narrow  bands  of  red  down  the  sides  of  each  planL 
The  table  wae  yellow,  the  chairs  blue,  and  their 
bottoms  red,  by  way  of  harmonious  variety.  But 
the  grand  point  —  the  great  masterpiece  in  the 
ornamentation  of  this  apartment — was  the  centre- 


DECOBATION    OF  THE   HALL. 


193 


piece  in  the  ceiling,  in  the  execution  of  which 
there  was  an  extraordinary  display  of  what  can 
be  accomplished  by  the  daring  flight  of  an  original 
genius  revelling  in  the  conscious  possession  of 
illimitable  power,  without  the  paralyzing  influ- 
ence of  conventional  education. 

The  device  itself  was  indescribable.  It  was  a 
sun,  or  a  star,  or,  rather,  a  union  and  com- 
mingling of  suns  and  stars  in  violent  contrast, 
wreathed  with  fanciful  fruits  and  foliage,  and 
Cupids,  and  creatures  of  the  now  extinct  species. 
The  rainbow  had  been  the  painter's  palette ; 
Genius  his  brush ;  Fancy-gone-mad  his  attend- 
ant; the  total  temporary  stagnation  of  redskin 
faculties  his  object,  and  ecstasy  his  general  state 
of  mind,  when  he  executed  this  magnificent 
chefd^cduvre  in  the  centre  of  the  ceiling  of  the 
reception-hall  at  the  Mountain  Fort. 

The  fire-place  was  a  capacious  cavern  in  the 
wall  opposite  the  entrance-door,  in  which,  during 
winter,  there  usually  burned  a  roaring  bonfire  of 
huge  logs  of  wood,  but  where,  at  the  time  of  which 
we  write,  there  was  just  enough  fire  to  enable 
visitors  to  light  their  pipes.  When  that  fire  blazed 
up  in  the  dark  winter  nights,  the  effect  of  that 
gorgeous  apartment  was  dazzling — absolutely 
bewildering. 

The  effect  upon  our  trappers  when  they  entered 
was  sufficiently  strong.  They  gazed  round  in 
amazement,  each  giving  vent  to  his  feelings  in  his 

IT 


1 


194 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


own  peculiar  exclamatory  grunt,  or  gasp,  or  cough. 
In  addition  to  this.  Bounce  smote  his  thigh  with 
unwonted  vigor.  Gibault,  after  gazing  for  a  few 
minutes,  sighed  out  something  that  sounded  like 
magnifique  '  and  Bertram  grinned  from  ear  to  ear ; 
—  he  went  further ;  he  laughed  aloud  —  an  unpo- 
lite  thing  to  do,  in  the  circumstances,  and,  for  a 
grave  man  like  him,  an  unusual  ebullition  of  feel- 
ing. But  it  was  observed  and  noted  that  on  this 
occasion  the  artist  did  not  draw  forth  his  sketch- 
book. 

McLeod,  who,  from  his  speech  and  bearing,  was 
evidently  a  man  of  some  education,  placed  chairs 
for  his  visitors,  took  the  lid  off  a  large  canister  of 
tobacco,  and  pushing  it  into  the  middle  of  the 
yellow  table,  said  — 

"  Sit  ye  down,  friends,  and  help  yourselves." 

He  set  them  the  example  by  taking  down  his 
own  pipe  from  a  nail  in  the  wall,  and  proceeding 
to  fill  it.  Having  done  so,  he  took  a  piece  of 
glowing  charcoal  from  the  fire,  and,  placing  it  on 
the  bowl,  began  to  smoke,  glancing  the  while, 
with  an  amused  expression  on  his  grave  face,  at 
the  trappers,  who,  while  filling  their  pipes,  kept 
gazing  round  the  walls  and  up  at  the  ceiling. 

"  Ha  !  "  said  he,  "  you  are  '  struck  with  our 
hall  (puff,  puff).  It's  rather  (puff)  an  effective 
one  (puff).     Have  a  light  ?  " 

Bounce,  to  whom  the  light  was  offered,  accepted 
the  same  ;  applied  it  to  his  pipe,  and  said  — 


THE  ARTIST  OF  THE  BACKWOODS. 


195 


"  Well,  yes  (pufF,,  it  is  (puff,  puff),  raither  wot 
ye  may  call  (puff)  pecooliar." 

"  Most  visitors  to  this  place  think  so,'*  said 
McLeod.  "  The  Indians  highly  approve  of  it, 
and  deem  me  quite  a  marve.  of  artistic  power." 

"  Wot !  did  you  paint  it  ?  "  inquired  Waller. 

"  I  did,"  answered  McLeod,  with  a  nod. 

"  Vraiment,  de  Injuns  am  right  in  deir  opinion 
of  you,"  cried  Gibault,  relighting  his  pipe,  which, 
in  the  astonished  state  of  his  mind,  he  had 
allowed  to  go  out. 

McLeod  smiled,  if  we  may  so  speak,  gravely, 
in  acknowledgment  of  the  compliment. 

"  Ha ! "  cried  Gibault,  turning  to  Bertram,  as 
if  a  sudden  thought  had  occurred  to  him,  "  Mon- 
sieur Bertram  et  Monsieur  Mak  Load,  you  be 
broders.  Oui,  Monsieur  Mak  Load,  dis  mine 
comrade  —  him  be  von  painteur." 

"  Indeed  ?  "  said  McLeod,  turning  to  the  artist 
with  more  interest  than  he  had  yet  shown  toward 
the  strangers. 

"  I  have,  indeed,  the  honor  to  follow  the  noble 
profession  of  painting,"  said  Bertram,  "but  I 
cannot  boast  of  having  soared  so  high  as  —  as — ^'* 

"  As  to  attempt  the  frescoes  on  the  ceiling  of  a 
reception-hall  in  the  backwoods,",  interrupted 
McLeod,  laughing.  "No,  I  believe  you,  sir ;  but, 
although  I  cannot  presume  to  call  you  brother 
professionally,  still  I  trust  that  I  may  do  so  as  an 
amateur.    I  am  delighted  to  see  you  here.     It  is 


196 


THE  WILD   MAN   OP  THE  WEST. 


not  often  we  are  refreshed  with  the  sight  of  the 
face  of  a  civilized  man  in  these  wild  regions." 

"  Upon  my  word,  sir,  you  are  plain-spoken," 
said  March  Marston,  with  a  look  of  affected  in- 
dignation ;  "  what  do  you  call  m  ?  " 

"  Pardon  me,  young  sir,"  replied  McLeod,  "  I 
call  you  trappers,  which  means  neither  civilized 
nor  savage ;  neither  fish,  nor  flesh,  nor  fowl " 

"  That's  a  foul  calumny,"  cried  Bounce,  knock- 
ing the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  and  refilling  it  from 
the  canister;  "it's  wot  may  be  called  a  —  a — " 

"  Lie,"  suggested  Waller.  -  ' 

"No,"  said  Bounce,  "it  ain't  that.  I  don't 
like  that  word.  It's  a  ugly  word,  an'  you 
shouldn't  ought  to  use  it.  Waller.  It's  a  error; 
that's  wot  it  is,  in  a  feelosophical  pint  o'  view. 
Jest  as  much  of  a  error,  now,  as  it  was  in  you. 
Mister  McLeod,  putting  so  little  baccy  in  this 
here  thing  that  there  ain't  none  left." 

"  What !  is  it  all  done  ?  "  cried  McLeod,  rising, 
and  seizi"ng  the  canister;  "so  it  is.  I  declare 
you  smoke  almost  as  fast  as  the  Wild  Man 
himself;  for  whom  I  mistook  you,  Mr.  Waller, 
when  I  saw  you  first,  at  some  distance  off." 

Saying  this,  he  left  the  room  to  fetch  a  further 
supply  of  the  soothing  weed,  and  at  the  same 
moment  two  squaws  appeared,  bearing  smoking 
dishes  of  white-fish  and  venison.     \ 

"  That  fellow  knows  something  about  the  Wild 
Man  o'  the  West,"  said  March  Marston,  in  a  low, 


name   o' 


FUR-TRADING   HOSPITALITY. 


197 


eager  tone,  to   his  comrades.     "  Twice  has  he 
mentioned  his  name  since  we  arrived." 

"  So  he  has,"  observed  Redhand,  "  but  there 
may  be  other  wild  men  besides  our  one." 

"  Unpossible,"  said  Bounce,  emphatically. 

"  Ditto,"  cried  Waller,  still  more  emphatically 
"  what  siiy  you,  Hawkswing  ?  " 
'    «  There  is  but  one  Wild  Man  of  the  West," 
replied  the  Indian. 

"  By  the  way,  fiawkswing,  what  was  the 
name  o'  the  rascally  trader  you  said  was  in 
charge  o'  this  fort  when  you  lived  here  ?  "  asked 
Redhand. 

"  Mokgroggir,"  replied  the  Indian. 

"  Ha,  Macgregor,  ye  mean,  no  doubt." 

Hawkswing  nodded. 

"Here  you  are,  friends,"  said  McLeod,  reen- 
tering the  room  with  a  large  roll  of  tobacco. 
"  Help  yourselves  and  don't  spare  it.  There's 
plenty  more  where  that  came  from.  But  I  see 
the  steaks  are  ready,  so  let  us  fall  to,  we  can 
smoke  afterwards." 

During  the  repast,  to  which  the  trappers 
applied  themselves  with  the  gusto  of  hungry 
men,  March  Marston  questioned  McLeod  about 
the  Wild  Man. 

"  The  Wild  Man  o'  the  West,"  said  he  in  some 
surprise ;  "  is  it  possible  there  are  trappers  in  the 
Rocky  Mountains  who  have  not  heard  of  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  siid  March,  hastily,  "  we've  beard 

17* 


\ 


\l  !'■  'I  'i  ''  \ 


198 


THE   WILD   MAN   OP  THE   WEST. 


i 


of  hini,  but  we  want  to  hear  more  particularly 
about  him,  for  the  accounts  don't  all  agree." 

"  Ha !  that's  it,"  said  Bounce,  speaking  with 
difficulty  through  a  large  mouthful  of  fish, "  that's 
it.  They  don't  agree.  One  says  his  rifle  is  thirty 
feet  long,  another  forty  feet,  an'  so  on.  There's 
no  gittin'  at  truth  in  this  here " 

A  bone  having  stuck  in  Bounce's  throat  at 
that  moment  he  was  unable  to  conclude  the 
sentence. 

"  As  to  the  length  of  his  rifle,"  said  McLeod, 
when  the  noise  made  by  Bounce  in  partially 
choking  had  subsided,  "you  seem  to  have  got 
rather  wild  notions  about  that,  and  about  the 
Wild  Man  too,  I  see." 

"  But  he  is  a  giant,  isn't  he  ?  "  inquired  March, 
anxiously. 

"N  —  not  exactly.  Certainly  he  is  a  big  fel- 
low, about  the  biggest  man  I  ever  saw  —  but  he's 
not  forty  feet  high ! " 

March  Marston's  romantic  hopes  began  to  sink. 
**  Then  he's  an  ordinary  man  just  like  one  o'  us," 
he  said,  almost  gloomily. 

"  Nay,  that  he  is  not,"  returned  McLeod, 
laughing.  "  Your  comrade  Waller  does  indeed 
approach  to  him  somewhat  in  height,  but  he's 
nothing  to  him  in  breadth ;  and  as  for  ferocity, 
strengih,  and  activity,  I  never  saw  any  thing  like 
him  in  my  life.  He  comes  sometimes  here  to 
exchange  his  furs  for  powder  and  lead,  but  he'U 


AN  ACCOUNT   OF  THE   WILD   MAN. 


199 


speak  to  no  one,  except  in  the  sharpest,  gruffest 
way.  I  think  he's  mad  myself.  But  he  seems 
to  lead  a  charmed  life  here  ;  for  although  he  has 
had  fights  with  many  of  the  tribes  in  these  parts, 
he  always  puts  them  to  flight,  although  he  fights 
single-handed." 

"  Single-handed !  "  exclaimed  Bounce  in  sur- 
prise. 

"  Ay.  I've  seen  him  at  it  myself,  and  can 
vouch  for  it,  that  if  ever  there  was  a  born  fiend 
let  loose  on  this  earth  it's  the  Wild  Man  of  the 
West  when  he  sets-to  to  thrash  a  dozen  Indians. 
But  I  must  do  him  the  justice  to  say,  that  I 
never  heard  of  him  making  an  unprovoked  at- 
tack on  anybody.  When  he  first  came  to  these 
mountains,  many  years  ago  —  before  I  came 
here  —  the  Indians  used  to  wonder  who  he  was 
and  what  he  meant  to  do ;  then  after  a  while, 
seeing  he  had  a  good  horse,  a  good  rifle,  and 
plenty  of  ammunition,  they  tried  to  kill  him ; 
but  the  first  fellow  that  tried  that  only  tried  it 
once.  He  lay  in  a  close  thicket  nigh  to  where 
the  Wild  Man  used  to  pass  from  his  home  in  the 
mountains  to  places  where  he  used  to  hunt  the 
elk  and  the  buffalo,  so,  when  he  came  up,  the 
Indian  laid  an  arrow  on  his  bow.  But  the  Wild 
M^n's  eye  was  sharp  as  a  needle.  He  stopped 
his  horse,  took  aim  like  a  flash  of  lightning,  aijd 
shot  him  through  the  head.  I  heard  this  from 
another  Indian  that  was  with  the  raurderin'  fel- 


.'At 


200 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


low  ihat  was  shot     The  Wild  Man  did  nothing 
to  the  other.     He  let  him  escape. 

"  Of  course  the  relations  of  the  man  who  was 
killed  were  up  immediately,  and  twenty  of  them 
set  out  to  murder  the  Wild  Man.  They  took 
their  horses,  spears,  and  bows  with  them,  and 
lay  in  wait  at  a  place  where  he  was  often  seen 
passing.  Sure  enough,  up  he  came,  on  horse- 
back, at  a  slow  walk,  looking  as  careless  and 
easy  as  if  no  blood  of  a  redskin  rested  on  his 
hand. 

"  It  chanced  the  day  before  that  day  that  we 
had  run  out  of  fresh  meat,  so  Mr.  Macgi'ogor, 
our  commandant  here,  ordered  me  to  take  three 
of  the  men,  and  go  out  after  the  buffaloes. 
Away  we  went,  looking  sharp  out,  however,  for 
some  of  Ihe  Indians  had  been  treated  by  Mac- 
gregor  so  brutally,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  that  we 
knew  our  scalps  were  not  safe.  Next  morning  I 
happened  to  pass  close  by  the  place  w'^here  the 
Indians  lay  in  ambush,  and  we  came  to  the  top 
of  a  precipice  that  overlooked  the  spot.  We 
saw  them  before  they  saw  us,  so  we  went  qui- 
etly back  into  the  bush,  tied  our  horses  to  trees, 
and  lay  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff  to  watch  them. 

"  In  about  ten  minutes  after  we  saw  the  Wild 
Man  riding  slowly  forward.  He  was  a  strange 
sight.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  seen  him, 
although  I  had  often  heard  of  him  before. 

"  Well,  on  he  came,  with  his  head  bent  and  his 


'^'«J*S4,. 


t1  *;'3*«**.i*.iiliM"-TIIM 


AN   ACCOUNT   OF  THE   WILD   MAN. 


201 


eyes  fixed  on  the  ground.  A  dense  thicket  hid 
his  enemies  from  him,  though  not  from  us,  we 
biing  so  high  above  them.  The  Wild  Man  was 
armed  with  his  long  rifle  slung  at  his  back,  a 
hunting  knife,  and  a  small  shield,  such  as  the 
Blackfoot  Indians  use  to  protect  themselves  from 
arrows.  The  only  unusual  sort  of  weapon  he 
carried  was  a  long  sword. 

"Not  knowing  at  Ihe  time  that  the  Indians 
were  waiting  for  him,  of  course  I  gave  no  alarm 
to  warn  him  of  his  danger.  When  he  came  within 
a  hundred  yards  of  the  thicket,  I  saw  him  push 
his  arm  a  little  further  into  the  handles  of  the 
shield.  It  was  but  a  slight  action  such  as  one 
might  perform  to  ease  the  arm  by  cliange  of  posi- 
tion ;  but  the  redskins  are  quicU-witled.  Tbey 
knew  that  he  suspected  they  were  there,  so,  giv- 
ing one  tremendous  yell,  they  sent  a  cloud  of 
arrows  at  him,  and  sprang  out  upon  the  plain  at 
full  gallop  with  their  spears  lowered. 

"Instead  of  turning  to  fly  from  such  an  un- 
equal combat,  the  Wild  Man  drew  his  sword  and 
rushed  at  them  like  a  thunderbolt.  His  onset 
was  the  most  awful  thing  I  ever  saw  in  my  life. 
The  plain  seemed  to  shake  under  the  tread  of  his 
gigantic  horse.  His  hair  streamed  wildly  out 
behind  him,  and  as  he  was  coming  to.ard  me  I 
could  see  that  his  teeth  were  set  and  his  eyes 
flashed  like  those  of  a  tiger.  The  Indians  were 
appalled  by  the  sight.     The  idea  of  one  mun 


202 


THB  WILD  MAN  OP  THE  WEST. 


i 


attacking  twenty  had  never  occurred  to  thorn. 
They  drew  up ;  but  it  was  too  late  to  prevent  a 
shock.  There  was  a  yell  from  the  savages,  a 
shout  like  the  roar  of  a  lion  from  the  Wild  Man, 
and  two  horses  and  their  riders  lay  on  the  plain. 
1  saw  the  long  sword  gleam  for  one  moment, 
just  as  the  shock  took  place,  and  the  head  of  a 
Bavage  rolled  immediately  after  along  the  ground. 

"  The  Indians,  though  overawed,  were  brave 
men.  They  turned  to  pursue  the  flying  horse- 
man, but  they  needed  not.  The  Wild  Man  was 
not  flying,  he  was  only  unable  at  first  to  check 
the  headlong  pace  of  his  charger.  In  a  few 
seconds  he  wheeled  about  and  charged  again. 
The  Indians,  however,  did  not  await  the  issue ; 
they  turned  ^nd  fled,  and  they  have  ever  since 
remained  in  the  firm  belief  that  the  Wild  Man  is 
a  "  great  medicine  "  man,  and  that  no  one  can 
kiU  him.  They  say  that  neither  arrows  nor 
bullets  can  pierce  his  skin,  which  is  an  inch 
thick ;  that  fire  and  smoke  come  out  of  his  mouth 
and  eyes,  and  that  his  horse  is,  like  himself,  in- 
vulnerable. I  must  confess,  however,  that,  with 
the  exception  of  his  enormous  size  and  his  feroc- 
ity, he  is,  from  what  I  saw  of  him,  much  the 
name  as  other  men.'' 

McLeod  concluded  his  description  of  this  sin- 
gular being,  to  which  his  guests  listened  open- 
eyed  and  mouthed,  and  helped  himself  to  a  buf 
falo-steak. 


mm» 


AS  ACCOUNT  or  THE  WILD  MAN. 


203 


*'  An'  what  did  he  when  the  Indians  ran 
away  ?  '*  inquired  March  Marston. 

**  Oh !  lie  quietly  pulled  up  his  horse  and  let 
them  run.  After  they  were  gone,  he  continued 
his  journey,  as  slow  and  cool  as  if  nothing  had 
happened.  Few  Indians  attack  him  now,  except 
new  bands  from  distant  parts  of  the  country,  who 
«lon't  know  him  ;  but  all  who  meddle  with  him 
(iiul,  to  their  cost,  that  it  would  have  been  better 
had  they  let  him  alone." 

"  Is  he  cruel  ?  Does  he  eat  men  and  childers  ?  " 
inquired  Bounce,  commencing  a  fourth  steak  with 
a  degree  of  violent  energy  that  suggested  the  pos- 
sibility of  his  being  himself  able  to  do  some 
execution  in  the  cannibal  line,  if  necessary. 

McLeod  laughed.  "  Oh,  dear,  no ;  he's  not 
cruel.  Neither  does  he  eat  human  flesh.  In 
fact,  he  has  been  known  to  do  some  kind  acta 
to  poor  starving  Indians  when  they  least  expected 
it.  The  real  truth  is,  that  he  is  only  fierce  when 
he's  meddled  with.  He  never  takes  revenge,  and 
he  has  never  been  known  to  lift  a  scalp." 

"  But  what  like  is  he  when  he  comes  to  trade 
his  furs  at  the  fort  here  ?  how  does  he  speak,  and 
in  what  language?"  inquired  Marston,  who, 
although  delighted  with  the  account  given  of  the 
strength  and  valor  of  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West, 
was  by  no  means  pleased  to  learn  that  he  was  not 
an  absolute  giant,  something  like  the  giant 
Despair  of  whom  he  had  read  in  the  "  Pilgrim's 
Progress." 


^ 


i-l-l. 


204 


THE   WILD   MAN  OF   THE   WEST. 


Ml 


"He's  just  like  a  trapper  —  only  he's  a  tre- 
mendous big  one  —  six  feet  six,  if  he's  an  inch, 
and  would  make  two  of  the  biggest  of  the  present 
company  round  the  shoulders.  But  he's  very 
silent,  and  won't  let  any  one  question  him.  The 
long  and  the  short  of  it  is,  that  I  believe  he  is  a 
madman  —  luckily  he's  a  well-disposed  madman, 
and  I  can  vouch  for  it  he  is  a  crack  hunter,  though 
,  he  don't  bring  many  furs  to  trade.  I  think  he 
spends  most  of  his  idle  time  in  moping  among 
the  caves  of  the  mountains." 

"  Does  any  one  know  where  he  lives  ?  "  asked 
Bertram,  who  was  gradually  becoming  interested 
in  this  stiange  being. 

"  No.  We  have  sometimes  tried  to  track  him, 
but  at  a  certain  place  we  have  invariably  lost  all 
traces  of  him." 

"  But  what  is  his  face  like,  and  how  does  he 
dress  ?  "  inquired  March,  eagerly ;  "  you  have 
not  yet  said  any  thing  about  that." 

McLeod  was  about  to  reply,  when  he  was 
interrupted  by  a  loud  shouting  in  the  yard  of  the 
fort.  Leaping  from  their  seats,  the  whole  parly 
ran  to  the  windows. 

"  I  thought  so,"  cried  McLeod,  seizing  his  cap 
and  hurrying  ou*:.  "  These  are  six  of_  my  men 
who  have  been  out  after  the  buffalo,  and  I  see 
thev  have  been  successful." 

The  fort-gate  liad  been  swung  open,  and,  just 
as  the  guests  issued  from  the  reception-hall,  six 


K 


■^ik-_ 


mm 


RETURN   OF  A   HUNTING   PAJITY. 


205 


hunters  galloped  into  the  square  with  all  the  reck- 
less noise  and  dash  peculiar  to  that  class  of  men. 
Leaping  from  their  foaming  steeds,  they  were 
quickly  surrounded  by  their  comrades,  and  by  the 
women  and  children  of  the  place,  who  congratu- 
lated them  on  their  success  in  the  chase,  and  plied 
them  with  eager  questions. 

That  they  had  indeed  been  successful,  waa 
evident  from  the  masses  of  fresh  raeat  with 
which  the  horses  were  laden. 

"  Well  done,  Davis,"  said  McLeod,  stepping  up 
to  one  of  the  men,  who,  from  his  age  and  intelli- 
gence, had  be  i  put  in  command  of  the  hunting 
party.  "  You  are  back  sooner  than  I  anticipated. 
Surely,  your  good  genius  sent  the  buffalo  across 
your  path." 

"  We  have  bin  in  luck,  sir,"  '-eplied  the  hunter, 
touching  his  cap.  "  We've  killed  more  than  we 
could  caiTy,  an',  what's  worse,  we've  killed  more 
than  we  wanted."  . 

«  How  so  ?  " 

"  We've  had  a  brush  wi'  the  redskins,  sir,  an 
we  had  to  kill  one  or  two  in  self-defence." 

McLeod's  brow  darkened.  He  clenched  his 
teeth,  and  the  large  veins  swelled  in  his  neck  and 
forehead.  With  a  powerful  effort  he  repressed 
his  anger,  and  said,  — 

"  Did  I  not  warn  you  to  avoid  that  if  you 
could  ?  " 

"  True,  sir."  replied  Davis,  humbly  •  *'  but  we 

18 


!  t' 


B,    V,, 

t  ; 


206 


THE  WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


could  not  help  it ;  for  in  the  first  heat  of  passion^ 
one  o'  them  was  shot,  an'  after  that,  of  course, 
we  had  to  fight  to  save  our  own  scalps." 

"  Who  fired  that  first  shot  ?  "  inquired  McLeod, 
sternly. 

Davis  made  no  reply,  but  all  eyes  were  at  once 
turned  upon  a  tall  slouching  man,  with  a  forbid- 
ding cast  of  countenance,  who  had  hitherto  kept 
n  the  background. 

"  So,  so,  Larocque,"  said  McLeod,  stepping  up 
to  the  man,  "  you've  been  at  your  bloody  work 
again,  you  scoundrel.  Hah  !  you  not  only  bring 
the  enmity  of  the  whole  Indian  race  down  on 
your  own  worthless  head,  and  on  the  heads  of 
your  innocent  companions,  but  you  have  the 
effirontery  to  bring  the  evidence  of  your  guilt  into 
this  fort  along  with  you." 

As  McLeod  spoke,  he  laid  hold  of  a  scalp  which 
Btill  dropped  fresh  blood  as  it  hung  at  the  hunter's 
saddle-bow. 

"  If  I'm  to  answer  to  you  for  every  scalp 
[  choose  to  lift  in  self-defence,  the  sooner 
I  quit  you  the  better,"  answered  Larocque, 
Bulkily. 

"  Was  there  any  occasion  to  lift  this  scalp  at 
all  ?  "  demanded  McLeod,  as  he  seized  the  man 
Oy  the  collar. 

"  Who  talks  of  lifting  scalps  ?  "  growled  a  loud 
deep-toned  voice. 

All  eyes  were  instantly  turned  on  the  speaker, 


MB.  MACOBLaOR. 


207 


and  the  crowd  fell  back  to  permit  Mr.  Macgregor, 
the  person  in  command  of  ihe  Mountain  Fort,  to 
approach  the  scene  of  action. 

The  man  who  now  appeared  on  the  scene  was 
a  sad  and  a  terrible  sight  to  behold.  He  was  one 
of  that  wretched  class  of  human  beings  who, 
having  run  a  long  course  of  unbridled  wickedness, 
become  total  wrecks  in  body  and  mind  long  before 
the  prime  of  manhood  has  been  passed.  Mac- 
gregor had  been  a  confirmed  drunkard  for  many 
years.  He  had  long  lost  all  power  of  self-control, 
and  had  now  reached  that  last  fearful  stage  when 
occasional  fits  of  delirium  tremens  rendered  him 
more  like  a  wild  beast  than  a  man.  Being  a  large 
and  powerful  man,  and  naturally  passionate,  he 
was  at  these  times  a  terror  to  all  who  came  near 
him.  He  had  been  many  years  in  charge  of  the 
fur-trading  ostablishment,  and  having  on  many 
occasions  ii.altreated  the  Indians,  he  was  hated 
by  them  most  cordially. 

One  of  his  mad  fits  had  been  on  him  for  some 
(lays  before  the  arrival  of  March  Marston  and  his 
friends.  He  had  recovered  sufficiently  to  be  able 
to  stagger  out  of  his  room  just  at  the  time  the 
bulfalo-hunters,  as  above  described,  entered  the 
square  of  the  fort.  As  he  strode  forward,  with 
nothing  on  but  his  shirt  and  trousers,  his  eyes 
bloodshot,  his  hair  matted  and  dishevelled,  and 
his  countenance  haggard  in  the  extreme,  he  was 
the  most  pitiable,  and,  at  the  same  time,  most 


M? 


:(■; 


;i 


l! 


I, 


808 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


terrible  specimen  of  human  degi-adation  that  the 
mind  of  man  could  conceive  of. 

"  What  now  ;  who  has  been  lifting  scalps  ?  " 
he  giowled  between  his  set  teeth,  striding  up  to 
Larocque,  and  glaring  in  his  face,  with  his  blood- 
shot eyes,  like  a  tiger.  ^-    >         >r    , 

McLeod  held  up  the  bloody  scalp. 

"  Who  did  it  ?  "  roared  Macgregor. 

"  I  did,"  said  Larocque,  with  an  attempt  at  a 
defiant  air. 

The  words  had  barely  passed  his  lips  when  he 
received  a  blow  between  the  eyes  that  felled  him 
to  the  carlh.  He  attempted  to  rise,  but,  with  a 
yell  that  sounded  more  like  the  war-cry  of  a 
savage  than  the  wrathful  shout  of  a  civilized  man, 
Macgregor  knocked  him  down  again,  and,  spring- 
ing at  his  throat,  began  to  strangle  him. 

Up  to  this  point,  McLeod  refrained  from  inter- 
fering, for  he  was  not  sorry  to  see  Ihe  murderer 
receive  such  severe  punishment ;  but,  having  no 
desu'e  to  witness  a  second  murder,  he  now  seized 
his  master,  and,  with  the  assistance  of  two  of  the 
men,  succeeded  in  tearing  him  off  from  Larocque, 
and  in  conveying  him,  as  respectfully  as  possible 
in  the  circumstances,  to  his  private  chamber. 


m, 


MCLEOD  AXD  BEBTBAM. 


209 


CHAPTER    XII. 

in  Argument  on  Argumentation ;  also  on  Religion. —  Bounce  "  feelo 
sophical "  again. —  A  Race  cut  short  by  a  Bullet. —  Flight  and  Pur- 
suit of  the  Redskins. 

When  McLeod  returned  to  the  square,  he 
found  that  the  trappers  had  adjourned  with  the 
men  of  the  establishment  to  enjoy  a  social  pipe 
together,  and  that  Theodore  Bertram  was  taking 
a  solitary,  meditative  promenade  in  front  of  the 
gate  of  the  fort. 

"  You  seem  in  a  pensive  mood,  Mr.  Bertram," 
said  the  fur-trader  on  coming  up,  "  will  you  not 
try  the  soothing  effects  of  a  pipe  ?  Our  tobacco 
is  good ;  I  can  recommend  it." 

He  offered  a  plug  of  tobacco  to  the  artist  as 
he  spoke. 

"  Thank  you,  I  do  not  smoke,"  said  Bertram, 
declining  the  proffered  luxury.  "  Tobacco  may 
be  good — though  I  know  it  not  from  experience. 
Yet,  methinks,  the  man  is  wiser  who  does  not 
create  an  unnatural  taste,  than  he  who  does  so 
for  the  purpose  of  gratifying  it." 

"  Ah !  you  are  a  philosopher." 

"  If  judging  of  things  and  questions  simply  on 

18» 


210 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


,! 


- 


their  own  merit,  and  with  the  single  object  of 
ascertaining  what  is  truth  in  regard  to  them,  con- 
stitutes a  philosopher,  I  am." 

"  Don't  you  find  that  men  who  philosophize  in 
that  way  are  usually  deemed  an  obstinate  gener- 
ation by  their  fellow  men  ?  "  inquired  the  trader, 
smiling  as  he  puffed  a  voluminous  cloud  from 
his  lips.  ,  , 

"  I  do,"  replied  Bertram. 

"And  don't  you  think  the  charge  is  just?" 
continued  the  other,  in  a  jocular  tone." 

"  I  do  not,"  replied  the  artist-  "  I  think  those 
who  caU  them  obstinate  are  often  much  more 
truly  deserving  of  the  epithet.  Philosophers,  in 
the  popular  sense  of  the  word,  are  men  who  not 
only  acquire  knowledge  and  make  themselves 
acquainted  with  the  opinions  of  others,  but  who 
make  independent  use  of  acquired  knowledge, 
and  thus  originate  new  ideas  and  frequently  ar- 
rive at  new  conclusions.  They  thus  often  come 
to  differ  from  the  rest  of  mankind  on  many  points, 
and,  having  good  reasons  for  this  difference  of 
opinion,  they  are  ever  ready  to  explain  and  ex 
pound  their  opinions  and  to  prove  their  correct- 
ness, or  to  receive  proof  of  their  incorrectness,  if 
that  can  be  given  —  hence  they  are  called  argu- 
mentative. Being  unwilling  to  give  up  what  ap- 
pears to  them  to  be  truth,  unless  it  can  he  shown 
to  be  falsehood,  their  opinions  are  r  ii  easily 
overturned — hence    they  are    called     <^'.cinat*^ 


BOUNCE,  BEETP4ND,  AND  MCLEOD  ARGUE.   211 


Thinking  out  a  subject  in  a  calm,  dispassionate, 
logical  manner,  from  its  first  proposition  to  its 
legitimate  conclusion,  is  laborious  to  all.  A  very 
large  class  of  men  and  women  have  no  patience 
for  such  a  process  of  investigation — hence  argu- 
mentation, i  hat  most  noble  of  all  mental  exercises, 
is  deemed  a  nuisance.  Certainly  argumentation 
with  unphilosophical  persons  is  a  nuisance  ;  but 
I  know  of  few  earthly  enjoyments  more  gratify- 
ing than  an  argument  with  a  true  philosopher." 

"  That's  wot  I  says,  so  I  do,  out-an'-out,"  ob- 
served Bounce,  who  had  come  up  unperceived, 
and  had  overheard  the  greater  part  of  the  above 
remarks.  "  Jist  wot  I  thinks  myself,  Mr.  Ber- 
tram, only  I  couldn't  'xactly  put  it  in  the  same 
way,  d'ye  see.  That's  wot  I  calls  out-an'-out 
feelosophy." 

"  Glad  to  hear  you're  such  a  wise  fellow,"  said 
McLeod,  patronizingly.  "  So  you  agree,  of 
course,  with  Mr.  Bertram  in  condemning  the 
use  of  the  pipe." 

"  Condemn  the  pipe  ?  "  said  Bounce,  pulling 
out  his  own  special  favorite  and  beginning  to  fill 
it,  —  "  wot,  condemn  smokin'  ?  No,  by  no  means 
wotsomdiver.  That's  quite  another  keev^estion, 
wot  we  haint  bin  a  disputin'  about.  I  only 
heered  Mr.  Bertram  a-talkin*  about  obst'nitnesa 
an'  argementation." 

"  Well,  in  regard  to  that,"  said  Bertram,  "  I 
firmly  believe  that  men  and  women  are  all  alike 
equally  obstinate." 


I ' 


ii 


212 


THE  WILD  MAN  OP  THE  WEST. 


"  Ha  !"  ejaculated  Bounce,  with  that  tone  of 
mingled  uncertainty  and  profound  consideration 
which  indicates  an  unwillingness  to  commit  one- 
self in  reference  to  a  new  and  startling  proposi- 
tion. 

"  On  what  grounds  do  you  think  so  ?  "  asked 
McLeod.  ,    . 

"  Why  on  the  simple  ground  that  a  man  can- 
not change  any  opinion  until  he  is  convinced 
that  it  is  wrong,  and  that  he  inevitably  must,  and 
actually  does,  change  his  opinion  on  the  instant 
that  he  is  so  convinced  ;  and  that  in  virtue,  not 
of  his  will,  but  of  the  constitution  of  his  mind. 
Some  men's  minds  are  of  such  a  nature  —  they 
take  such  a  limited  and  weak  grasp  of  things  — 
that  they  cannot  be  easily  convinced.  Others 
are  so  powerful  that  they  readily  seize  upon  truth 
when  it  is  presented  to  them  ;  but  in  either  case, 
the  instant  the  point  of  conviction  is  reached  the 
mind  is  changed.  Pride  may  indeed  prevent  the 
admission  of  this  change,  but  it  takes  place,  as  I 
have  said,  inevitably." 

At  this  Bounce  opened  his  eyes  to  their  utmost 
possible  width  and  said  solemnly,  "  Wot!  do  ye 
mean  for  to  tell  me,  then,  that  there  ain't  no 
sich  thing  as  obstinacy  ?  "  He  accompanied  this 
question  with  a  shake  of  the  head  which  implied 
that  if  Bertram  were  to  argue  till  doomsday  he 
would  never  convince  him  (Bounce)  of  that. 

"  By  no  means,"  returned  the  artist,  smiling, 


THE   ARGUMENT  INTERRUPTED 


213 


♦*  there  is  plenty  of  it,  but  obstinacy  does  not 
consist  in  the  simple  act  of  holding  one's  opinion 
firmly." 

"  Wot  does  it  consist  of,  then  ?  " 

"  In  this:  —  in  holding  firmly  to  opinions  that 
ave  been  taken  hastily  up,  without  the  grounds 
on  which  they  are  founded  having  been  duly 
weighed ;  and  in  refusing  to  consider  these 
grounds  in  a  philosophical  (which  means  a 
rational)  way,  because  the  process  would  prove 
tiresome.  The  man  who  has  comfortably  settled 
all  his  opinions  in  this  way,  ver.y  much  resembles 
that '  fool '  of  whom  it  is  written  that  he  *  is  wiser 
in  his  own  conceit  than  seven  men  who  can  render 
a  reason,^ " 

"  Well,  but,  to  come  back  to  the  starting- 
point,"  said  McLeod,  "  many  wise  men  smoke." 

"  If  you  say  that  in  the  way  of  argument,  I 
meet  it  with  the  counter  proposition,  that  many 
wise  men  donH  smoke." 

"  Hah  !  "  ejaculated  Bounce,  but  whether 
Bounce's  ejaculation  was  one  of  approval  or 
disapproval  we  cannot  tell.  Neither  can  we  tell 
what  conclusion  these  philosophers  came  to  in 
regard  to  smoking,  because,  just  then,  two  horse- 
men were  seen  approaching  the  fort  at  full  speed. 

Seeing  th?^t  they  were  alone,  McLeod  took  no 
precautions  to  prevent  surprise.  He  Unew  weU 
enough  that  Indians  frequently  approach  in  this 
manner,  so  waited  in  front  of  the  gate,  coolly 


M 


%) 


214 


THE   WILD   MAN   0?  THE   WEST. 


li 


smoking  his  pipe,  until  the  savages  w  ere  within 
a  few  yards  of  him.  It  seemed  as  if  they  pur- 
posed running  him  down,  but  just  as  they  came 
to  within  a  couple  of  bounds  of  him,  they  drew 
up  so  violently  as  to  throw  their  foaming  steedd 
on  their  haunches. 

Leaping  to  the  ground,  the  Indians  —  who 
were  a  couple  of  strong,  fine-looking  savages, 
dressed  in  leathern  costume,  with  the  usual  orna- 
ments of  bead  and  quill  work,  tags,  and  scalp- 
locks  —  came  forward  and  spoke  a  few  words  to 
McLeod  in  the  Gree  language,  and  immediately 
after,  delivering  their  horses  to  the  care  of  one  of 
the  men  of  the  establishment,  accompanied  him 
to  the  store. 

In  less  than  half  an  hour  they  returned  to  the 
gate,  when  the  Indians  remounted,  and,  starting 
away  at  their  favorite  pace  —  full  gallop  —  were 
soon  out  of  sight. 

"  Them  fellows  seem  to  be  in  a  hurry,"  re- 
marked Bounce,  as  they  disappeared. 

"  Ay,  they're  after  mischief  too,"  replied  Mc- 
Leod, in  a  sad  tone  of  voice.  "  They  are  two 
Cree  chiefs  who  have  come  here  for  a  supply  of 
ammunition  to  hunt  the  buffalo,  but  I  know  they 
mean  to  hunt  different  game,  for  I  heard  them 
talking  to  each  other  about  a  war  party  o( 
Blood  Indians  being  in  this  part  of  the  country. 
Depend  unon  it  scalps  will  be  taken  ere  long. 
'Tis  a  sad,  sad  state  of  things.     Blood,  blood, 


AN  ARGUMENT  ON  RELIGION 


215 


blood  seems  to  be  the  universal  cry  here,  and, 
now  that  wci've  had  so  many  quaiTcls  with  the 
redskins,  I  fear  that  the  day  is  not  far  distant 
when  blood  will  flow  even  in  the  Mountain  Fort. 
I  see  no  prospect  for  a  better  state  of  things,  for 
savage  nature  cannot  be  changed.  It  seems  a 
hopeless  case." 

"  There  was  a  touch  of  pathos  in  the  tone  in 
which  this  was  said  that  was  very  different  from 
McLeod's  usual  bold  and  reckless  manner.  It 
was  evident  that  his  natural  disposition  was 
kind,  hearty,  and  peaceable ;  but  that  the  con- 
stant feuds  in  which  he  was  involved,  both  in  the 
fort  and  out  of  it,  had  soured  his  temper  and 
rendered  him  wellnigh  desperate. 

"  You  are  wrong,  sir,  in  saying  that  their  case 
is  hopeless,"  said  Bertram,  earnestly.  "  There  is 
a  remedy." 

"  I  wish  you  could  show  it  me,"  replied  the 
trader. 

"  Here  it  is,"  returned  the  artist,  taking  his 
little  Testament  from  the  inside  pocket  of  his 
hunting-shirt.  "  The  gospel  is  able  to  make  all 
men  wise  unto  salvation." 

McLeod  shook  his  head,  and  said,  "  It  won't 
do  here.  To  be  plain  with  you,  sir,  I  don't  be- 
heve  the  gospel's  of  any  use  in  these  wild  regions, 
where  murder  seems  to  be  as  natural  to  man, 
woman,  and  child  as  food." 

"  But,  sir,"  rejoined  Bertram,  "  you  forget  that 


mi  I 


li 


mu 


!;»*,[ 
l.«l 


216 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  TUB  WEST. 


our  Saviour  himself  says  that  he  came  not  to 
call  the  righteous  but  sinners  to  repentance.  In 
this  volume  we  are  told  that  the  blood  of  Christ 
cleanseth  us  from  all  sin  ;  and,  not  only  have  we 
his  assurance  that  none  who  come  unto  him 
shall  be  cast  out,  but  we  have  examples  in  al 
parts  of  the  known  world  of  men  and  women 
who  were  once  steeped  to  the  lips  in  every 
species  of  gross  iniquity  having  been  turned  to 
the  service  of  God  through  faith  in  Christ,  and 
that  by  the  power  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  who,  in 
this  Word  of  God,  is  promised  freely  to  them 
that  simply  ask."  i^ 

"  It  may  be  so,"  returned  McLeod ;  "  I  have 
not  studied  these  things  much.  I  don't  profess 
to  be  a  very  religious  man,  and  I  cannot  pretend 
to  know  much  of  what  the  gospel  has  done  else- 
where ;  but  I  feel  quite  sure  that  it  cannot  do 
much  here.^^ 

"  Then  you  do  not  believe  the  Bible,  which 
says  distinctly  that  this  *gospt'  's  the  power  of 
God  unto  salvation  to  every  one  that  belie veth.'  " 

"  Ay,  but  these  wretched  Indians  won't  be- 
lieve," objected  the  trader. 

"  True,"  answered  Bertram  ;  "  they  have  not 
faith  by  nature,  and  they  won^t  because  they  canH 
believe ;  but  faith  is  the  gift  of  God,  and  it  is  to 
be  had  for  the  asking." 

"  To  that  I  answer  that  they'll  never  ask." 

*'  How  do  you  know  ?    Did  you  ever  give  them 


a  tria 
Ihem  1 

Your 
argiui 
IiKJiai 
on  thi 
your  ci 


MACOKEQOR  MEETS  TUE  TRAPPERS. 


217 


a  trial  ?     Did  you  ever   preach  the  gospel  to 
them  ?  " 

"  No,  I  never  did  that." 

"  Then  you  cannot  tell  how  they  would  treat  it. » 
Your  remarks  are  mere  iis.sertions  of  opinion — not 
aignments.  You  know  the  wickedness  of  the 
Luliiuis,  and  can,  therefore,  speak  authoritatively 
on  that  point ;  but  you  know  not  (according  to 
yonr  own  admission),  the  power  of  the  gospel ; 
therefore  you  are  not  in  a  position  to  speak  on 
that  point." 

McLeod  was  about  to  reply,  when  he  was  in- 
terrupted by  the  approach  of  Mr.  Macgregor,  who 
had  now  recovered  somewhat  from  the  ell'ecls  of 
his  violent  fit  of  passion.  Having  observ(^d  during 
the  mrlcc  that  strangers  had  arrived  at  his  fort, 
he  had  washed  and  converted  himself  into  a  more 
presentable  personage,  and  now  came  forward  to 
the  group  of  trappers,  all  of  whom  had  assembled 
at  the  gate.  Addressing  them  in  a  tone  of  afiablo 
hospitality  he  said,  — 

"  Good  day,  friends ;  Pm  glad  to  see  you  at  the 
Mountain  Fort.  That  blackguard  Larocque 
somewhat  ruffled  my  temper.  He's  been  the 
cause  of  much  mischief  here,  I  assure  you.  Do 
you  intend  to  trap  in  these  parts  ?  " 

The  latter  part  of  this  speech  was  addressed  to 
Redhand,  who  replied,  — 

"  We  do  mean  to  try  our  luck  in  these  parts, 

but  we  han't  yet  made  up  our  minds,  exactly 

10 


218 


THE  WILD   MAN   OF  THE  WEST. 


where  to  go.  Mayhap  you'll  give  us  the  benefit 
of  your  advice." 

While  he  was  speaking  the  fur-trader  glanced 
.  with  an  earnest  yet  half  stupid  stare  at  the  faces 
of  the  trappers,  as  if  he  wished  to  impress  their 
features  on  his  memory. 

"  Advice,"  he  replied  ;  "  you're  welcome  to  all 
the  advice  I've  got  to  give  ye  ;  and  it's  this  —  go 
home  ;  go  to  where  you  belong  to,  sell  your  traps 
and  rifles  and  take  to  the  plough,  the  hatchet,  the 
forehammer  —  to  any  thing  you  like,  so  long  as  it 

keeps  you  out  of  this "    Macgregor  paused  a 

moment  as  if  he  were  about  to  utter  an  oath, 
then  dropped  his  voice  and  said,  "  This  wretched 
Indian  country." 

"  I  guess,  then,  that  we  won't  take  yer  advice, 
old  man,"  said  Big  Waller,  with  a  laugh.     * 

"  *  Old  man  ?  '  "  echoed  Macgregor  with  a 
start. 

"  Wall,  if  ye  beant  old,  ye  ain't  exactly  a 
chicken." 

"  You're   a    plain-spoken    man,"   replied    the 


trader,  biting  his  lips.  "  I  always  wos,"  retorted 
WaUer. 

Macgregor  frowned  for  a  moment,  then  he 
broke  into  a  forced  laugh  and  said,  — 

"  Well,  friends,  you'll  please  yourselves,  of 
course ;  most  people  do ;  and  if  you  are  so  de- 
termined to  stick  to  the  wilderness,  I  would  advisf 
some  of  you  to  stop  here.     There's  plenty  of  fnn 


A   RACE. 


219 


and  fighting,  if  you're  fond  of  that.  What  say 
you  now,  lad,"  turning  to  March,  "  to  remain 
vviih  us  here  at  the  Mountain  Fort?  I've  ta'en 
a  sort  of  fancy  to  your  face.  We  want  young 
bloods  here.  I'll  give  you  a  good  wage  and  plenty 
io  do." 

"  Thmks  ;  you  are  kind,"  replied  March, 
BiTiiling,  "  but  I  love  freedom  too  well  to  part 
with  it  yet  awhile." 

"  Mais,  monsieur,"  cried  Gibault,  pushing  for- 
ward, pulling  off  his  cap,  and  making  a  low  bow ; 
"if  you  vants  ypnger  blod,  an'  also  ver'  goot 
blod,  here  am  von  !  " 

The  trader  laughed,  and  was  about  to  reply, 
when  a  sudden  burst  of  laughter  and  the  sound 
of  noisy  voices  in  Ihe  yard  interrupted  him.  Pres- 
ently fwo  of  the  men  belonging  to  the  establish- 
ment cantered  out  of  Ihe  square,  followed  by 
aU  ihe  men,  women,  and  children  of  the  place, 
amounting  probably  to  between  twenty  and  thirty 
sonls.     "  A  race !  a  race ! "  shouted  the  foremost. 

"  Hallo !  Dupont,  what's  to  do  ?  "  inquired 
McLeod,  as  the  two  horsemen  came  up. 

"  Please,  monsieur,  Lincoln  have  bet  me  von 
gun  dat  hims  horse  go  more  queek  dan  mine,  — 
so  we  try." 

"  Yes,  so  we  shall,  I  guess,"  added  the  man 
named  Lincoln,  whose  speech  told  that  he  was  a 
Yankee. 

"  Go  it  stranger ;   I  calc'late  you'll  do   him 


220 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF   THE   WEST. 


slick,"  cried  Waller,  patronizingly,  for  his  hearl 
warmed  towards  his  countryman. 

"  Ah !  non.  Go  home  ;  put  your  horse  to 
bed,"  cried  Gibault,  glancing  at  the  Yankee's 
steed  in  contempt.  "  Dis  is  de  von  as  vill  do  it 
more  slicker  by  far." 

"  Well,  well ;  clear  the  course ;  we  shall  soon 
see,"  cried  McLeod.  "  Now  then  —  here's  the 
word,  —  one,  two  —  away  I  " 

At  the  last  word  the  riders'  whips  cracked,  and 
the  horses  sprang  forward  at  a  furious  g;dlop. 
Both  of  Ihem  were  good  spirited  animals,  and 
during  Ihe  first  part  of  the  race  it  could  not  be 
said  that  either  had  the  advantage.  They  ran 
neck  and  neck  together. 

The  race-course  at  the  Mountain  Fort  was  a 
beautiful  stretch  of  level  turf  which  extended  a 
considerable  distance  in  front  of  the  gates.  It 
crossed  a  clear  open  country  towards  the  forest, 
where  it  terminated,  and,  sweeping  round  in  an 
abrupt  curve,  formed,  as  it  were,  a  loop  ;  so  tliat 
compeiiCors,  after  passing  over  the  courg  3,  swept 
round  the  loop,  and  reentering  the  original 
course  again,  came  back  toward  the  fort,  where 
a  long  pole  formed  the  wunning-post. 

Dupont  and  Lincoln  kept  together,  as  we  have 
said,  for  some  time  after  starting,  but  before  they 
had  cleared  the  first  half  of  the  course  the  former 
was  considerably  in  advance  of  the  latter,  much 
to  the  delight  of  most  of  the  excited  spectators, 


sprang 


A  MURDER  AND   ITS   PUNISHMENT. 


221 


's  th^ 


with  whom  he  was  a  favorite.  On  gaining  the 
loop  above  referred  to,  and  making  the  graceful 
sweep  round  it,  which  brought  the  foremost  rider 
into  full  side  view,  the  distance  between  them 
became  more  apparent,  and  a  cheer  arose  from 
the  people  near  the  fort-gate. 

At  that  moment  a  puff  of  smoke  issued  from 
the  bushes.  Dupont  tossed  his  arms  in  the  air, 
uttered  a  sharp  cry,  and  fell  headlong  to  the 
m-ound.  At  the  same  instant  a  band  of  Indians 
sprang  from  the  underwood,  with  an  exulting 
yell.  Lincoln  succeeded  in  checking  and  turning 
his  horse  before  they  caught  his  bridle,  but  an 
aiTow  pierced  his  shoulder  ere  he  had  galloped 
out  of  reach  of  his  enemies. 

The  instant  Dupont  fell,  a  savage  leaped  upon 
him,  and  plunged  his  knife  into  his  heart.  Then, 
passing  the  sharp  weapon  quickly  round  his  head 
with  his  right  hand,  with  the  left  he  tore  the 
scalp  off,  and,  leaping  up,  shook  the  bloody 
trophy  defiantly  at  the  horrified  spectators. 

All  this  was  accomplished  so  quickly  that  the 
horror-stricken  people  of  the  Mountain  Fort  had 
not  time  to  move  a  finger  to  save  thtir  comrade. 
But,  as  the  savage  raised  the  scalp  of  poor 
Dupont  above  his  head,  Redhand's  rifle  flew  to 
his  ohoulder,  and  in  another  moment  the  indian 
fell  to  the  earth  beside  his  victim.  Seeing  this, 
the  other  Indians  darted  into  the  forest. 

Then  a  fear'^ul  imprecation  burst  from  the  lips 

19* 


I  V 


222 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


of  Macgregor,  as,  with  a  face  convulsed  with 
passion,  he  rushed  into  the  fort,  shouting  —  "  To 
aorse!  to  horse,  men!  and  see  that  your  horna 
and  pouches  are  full  of  powder  and  ball ! " 

The  commotion  and  hubbub  that  now  took 
place  baffle  all  description.  The  men  shouted 
and  raved  as  tiiey  ran  hither  and  thither,  arming 
themselves  and  saddling  their  horses ;  while  the 
shrieks  of  poor  Dupont's  widow  mingled  with 
those  of  the  other  women  and  the  cries  of  the 
terrified  children. 

"  Half  a  dozen  of  you  must  keep  the  fort," 
said  McLeod,  when  they  were  all  assembled; 
"the  others  will  be  sufficient  to  punish  these 
fiends.     You'll  help  us,  I  suppose  ?  " 

This  latter  question  was  addressed  to  Red- 
hand,  who,  with  his  comrades,  stood  armed,  and 
ready  to  mount. 

"  Ready,  sir,"  answered  the  trapper  promptly. 

McLeod  looked  round  with  a  gleam  of  satis- 
faction on  the  stalwart  forms  of  his  guests,  as 
they  stood  each  at  his  horse's  head  examining  the 
state  of  his  weapons,  or  securing  more  tirinly 
some  portion  of  his  costume. 

"  Mount !  mount ! "  shouted  Macgregor,  gal- 
loping at  that  moment  through  the  gateway,  and 
dashing  away  in  the  direction  of  the  forest. 

"  Stay !  —  my  sketch-book ! "  cried  Bertrim,  in 
an  agony,  at  the  same  time  dropping  his  r^ins 
and  his  gun,  and  darting  back  toward  the  hal'  of 
the  fort. 


BERTRAM   JOINS   IN   THE  PURSUIT. 


228 


« Git  on,  lads ;  I'll  look  arter  him,"  said 
Bounce,  with  a  grin,  catching  up  the  bridle  of 
the  artist's  horse. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation,  the  remainder 
of  the  party  turned,  and  galloped  after  Mac- 
gregor,  who,  with  the  most  of  his  own  men,  had 
already  wellnigh  gained  the  edge  of  the  forest. 

In  a  few  seconds  Bertram  rushed  wildly  out  of 
the  fort,  with  the  sketch-book  in  one  hand  and 
the  two  blunderbuss-pistols  in  the  other.  In 
leaping  on  his  horse,  he  dropped  the  latter ;  but 
Bounce  picked  them  up,  and  stuck  them  hastily 
into  his  own  belt.  < 

"  Now  put  that  book  into  its  own  pouch,  or 
ye'U  be  fit  for  nothin',"  said  Bounce,  almost 
sternly. 

Bertram  obeyed,  and  grasped  the  rifle  which 
his  friend  placed  in  his  hand.  Then  Bounce 
vaulted  into  his  saddle,  and,  ere  those  who  were 
left  behind  had  drawn  the  bolts  and  let  down  the 
ponderous  bars  of  the  gate  of  the  Mountain 
Fort,  the  two  horsemen  were  flying  at  full  speed 
over  the  plain  in  the  track  of  the  avengers  of 
blood  who  had  gone  before  them. 


224 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

The  Pursuit.  —  Conscientious  Scruples  of  the  Artist.  —  Strategic 
Movements.  —  Surprised  in  the  Wild-cat  Pass. — March  shows 
Coolness  and  Pluck  in  the  Hour  of  Danger.  —  A  Terrific  On- 
slaught by  a  Wonderful  Warrior.  —  The  Battle.  —  Hard  Knocks 
and  Mysterious  Dift'erences  of  Opinion. 

Crossing  the  open  ground  in  front  of  the 
Mountain  Fort,  Bounce  and  Bertram  entered  the 
wood  beyond,  and  traversed  it  with  comparative 
ease,  by  means  of  a  bridle-path  which  had  been 
cut  there  by  the  fur-traders.  A  few  minutes' 
gallop  brought  them  to  the  other  side  of  the 
wood,  which  was  one  of  those  narrow  strips  or 
clumps  of  forest  which  grow,  more  or  less  thickly, 
on  the  skirts  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  forming 
that  fine  picturesque  region  where  the  prairie 
and  the  forest  meet  and  seem  to  contend  for  the 
mastery. 

The  plain  beyond  this  bit  of  wood  was  open 
and  level  —  at  least,  sufficiently  so  to  enable  the 
two  horsemen  to  see  for  a  considerable  distance 
around  them.  Here,  in  the  far  distance  they 
descried  their  companions  sweeping  over  the 
turf  at  their  utmost  speed,  and  making  toward  a 
low  hill  or  ridge  that  intercepted  the  view  of  the 
more  distant  country. 


Bertram's  scruples. 


225 


"  They'll  have  to  draw  in  a  bil,"  said  Bounce, 
turning  to  his  comrade.  "  Horses  no  more  nor 
men  can^t  go  helter-skelter  up  a  hill  without 
takin'  breath;  so  rouse  up  your  beast,  Mr.  Ber- 
inim,  an'  we'll  overtake  'em  afore  they  gits  to  the 
toiher  side."  » 

Bertram  obeyed  his  friend's  command,  but 
made  no  rejoinder,  his  thoughts  being  too  deeply 
enj^aged  at  that  moment  in  a  controversy  with 
his  conscience  as  to  the  propriety  of  the  business 
he  had  then  in  hand. 

The  young  artist  had  a  deep  veneration  for 
abstract  truth — truth  pure  and  simple,  not  only 
in  reference  to  morals,  but  to  all  things  terrestrial 
and  celestial ;  and  he  was  deeply  impressed  with 
the  belief,  that  what  was  right  —  was  right,  and 
what  was  wrong  —  was  wrong,  and  could  not, 
by  any  possibility,  be  otherwise.  He  ilt,  also, 
that  the  man  who  recognized  truth,,  and  acted 
upon  it,  must  go  right,  and  he  who  saw  and  did 
otherwise  must  go  wrong! 

Holding  this  simple  creed  very  tenaciously,  and, 
as  we  think,  very  properly,  Bertram  nevertheless 
found  that  his  attempts  to  act  up  to  it  frequently 
involved  him  in  a  maze  of  perplexities. 

On  the  present  occasion,  as  he  and  Bounce 
ihundered  over  the  green  turf  of  the  flower- 
iii'i^  plains,  scattering  the  terrified  grasshoppers 
right  and  left,  and  causing  the  beautifully-striped 
ground-squirrels  to  plunge  with  astonishing  pre- 


I 


I 


'II 


PI 


•i , 


11'  ; 
■  '   -1' 

H 
['■111 


226 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF   THE   WEST. 


cipitancy  into  their  holes,  he  argued  with  himself, 
that  the  mere  fact  of  a  murderous  deed  haviii" 
been  done  was  not  a  sufficient  reason,  perhaps,  to 
justify  his  sallying  forth  with  a  reckless  band  of 
desperate  fur-traders,  bent  on  indipcriminate 
evenge.  It  was  quite  true,  in  his  opinion,  that 
a  murderer  should  be  punished  with  death,  and 
that  the  pursuit  and  capture  of  a  murderer  was 
not  only  a  legitimate  act  in  itself,  but,  in  the  cir- 
cumstances, a  bounden  duty  on  his  part.  Yet  il 
was  equally  true  that  most  of  the  men  with 
whom  he  was  associated  were  thirsty  for  ven- 
geance, and  from  past  experience  he  knew  full 
well  that  there  would  be  no  attempt  to  find  out 
the  murderer,  but  a  simple  and  general  massacre 
of  all  the  Indians  whom  they  could  overtake. 

Then  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  the 
murderer  had  already  been  shot  by  Redhand,  so 
that  his  mission  was  one  of  simple  revenge  ;  but, 
a  moment  after,  it  flashed  across  his  troubled 
mind  that  Lincoln  had  been  left  in  the  fort 
wounded  —  might  possibly  be  dead  by  that  time ; 
so  that  there  were  probably  among  the  flying 
savages  other  murderers  to  be  dealt  with.  This 
idea  was  strengthened  by  another  thought, 
namely,  that  the  savage  who  stabbed  and  scalped 
Du})ont  might  not  have  been  the  savage  who  shot 
him.  The  complication  and  a  ^gxcgate  of  improb- 
ability amounted,  in  Bertrara's  mind,  so  nearly 
to  a  certainty,  that  he  dismissed  the  digressive 


right 


macgregor's  plans. 


227 


qurstion  as  to  whether  there  might  or  might  not 
be  a  murderer  among  the  Indians,  and  returned 
to  the  original  proposition,  as  to  whether  it  was 
right  in  him  to  take  part  in  a  pursuit  of  ven- 
jreance  that  would  very  likely  terminate  murder, 
ously.  But  before  he  could  come  to  any  satis- 
factory conclnsion  on  that  point,  he  and  Bounce 
found  themselves  suddenly  in  the  midst  of  the 
cavalcade,  which  had  halted  on  the  summit  of 
the  ridge,  in  order  to  allow  them  to  come  up. 

"  Here  we  are,  lads,"  cried  Macgregor,  hia 
flushed  face  still  blazing  with  wrath,  which  he 
made  no  effort  to  subdue,  and  his  eyes  red  with 
prolonged  debauchery,  flashing  like  the  eyes  of  a 
tiger,  —  "  here  we  are,  too  late  to  cut  off  the  re- 
treat o'  these  detestable  reptiles  from  the  woods, 
but  not  too  late  to  circumvent  them." 

The  fur-trader  spoke  rapidly,  almost  breath- 
lessly, and  pointed  to  the  band  of  Indians  they 
were  in  pursuit  of,  who,  observing  that  their  pur* 
suers  had  halted,  also  drew  rein  on  the  edge  of 
a  belt  of  thick  forest  that  extended  for  miles  into 
the  mountains.  They  appeared  to  wait,  in  ordei 
to  ascertain  what  their  enemies  meant  to  do. 

"  The  villains,"  continued  Macgregor,  "  think 
we've  given  up  pursuit  as  hopeless,  but  they're 
mistaken  —  they're  mistaken,  as  they'll  find  to 
their  cost.  Now,  mark  me,  men ;  we  shall  turn 
back  as  if  we  had  really  given  in ;  but  the  mo- 
ment we  get  down  into  the  hollow,  out  of  sights 


■i 

I 


A 


228 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF   THE  WEST. 


we'll  go  as  hard  as  we  can  bolt  up  that  valley 
there,  and  round  by  the  place  we  call  ihe  Wild- 
cat's Pass.  It's  a  difficult  pass,  but  who  cares  for 
that?  Once  through  it  we  can  get  by  a  short 
cut  to  the  other  side  of  that  wood,  and  meet  the 
Redskins  right  in  the  teeth.  They're  Blackfoot 
Indians,  I  know  by  their  dress  ;  and  as  they  don't 
belong  to  this  part  o'  the  country,  they  can't  be 
aware  of  the  pass.  But  some  of  us  must  go 
back  a  good  way  toward  the  fort,  so  as  to  deceive 
the  blackguards,  who'll  be  sure  to  get  on  the  first 
hill  they  can  to  see  where  we've  gone  to.  Now 
—  away !  Stay,"  he  added,  in  a  less  command- 
ing tone,  "  I  don't  know  that  my  guests  are  will- 
ing to  go  with  us  through  thick  an'  thin  in  this 
fashion.     I've  no  desire  to  have  unwilling  war- 


?> 


riors. 

"  Had  we  not  been  willing',''^  replied  Redhand, 
drily,  "  we  wouldn't  have  come  even  thus  far." 

"  Very  good,"  rejoined  Macgregor,  with  a  grim 
smile  ;  "  then,  perhaps,  since  you  are  so  good  as 
to  go  along  with  us,  you'll  malie  for  the  liead  of 
that  valley,  and,  when  you  come  to  the  Wild-cat 
Pass  I've  spoken  of,  you'll  wait  there  till  the  rest 
of  UL^,  who  are  to  sham  going  back  to  the  fort, 
come  up  with  ye ;  then  we'll  go  through  the  pass 
together,  and  polish  off  the  redskins." 

To  this  plan  Redhand  assented ;  so  he  and  his 
conarades  prepared  to  take  the  way  to  the  pass, 
while  the  men  of  the  fort  turned  homewards.     A 


trium( 
they 
Miicgi] 
into  t 
were 


A   STRATEGIC   MOVEMENT. 


229 


triumphant  shout  from  the  Indians  showed  that 
they  imagined  the  pursuit  was  given  up;  but 
Macgivgor  knew  thoir  cunning  too  well  to  fall 
into  the  mistake  of  at  once  concluding  that  they 
were  thoroughly  deceived.  He  knew  that  they 
would  send  out  scouts  to  dog  them,  and  felt,  that 
if  his  j)lan  was  to  succeed,  he  must  put  it  into 
execution  promptly. 

"  I've  scarce  had  time  to  ask  your  names  or 
where  you've  come  from,"  he  said,  on  parting 
from  the  trappers  ;  "  but  there'll  be  plenty  of  time 
for  that  when  we  meet  again.  Keep  close  in  the 
bottom,  and  ride  fast,  till  the  shadow  of  yonder 
crag  conceals  you  from  view.  If  the  Indians  get 
sight  of  you,  they'll  smell  the  dodge  at  once  and 
escape  us.  Perhaps,  young  man,  you'd  Like  to 
coine  with  my  party?  " 

The  latter  part  of  this  speech  was  made  rather 
abruptly  to  March  Marston,  who  received  it  wHh 
some  surprise,  and  with  a  distinct  refusal. 

"I'll  stick  by  my  comrades,"  said  he,  "tiU  I 
see  good  reason " 

"  Well,  well,  boy —  please  yourself! "  mutttred 
the  trader  angrily,  as  he  broke  away  at  fuU  spiked, 
followed  by  his  men. 

Our  trappers  instantly  turned  their  ho'^es' 
heads  toward  the  mountains,  and  made  foi  the 
Wild-cat  Pass. 

Macgregor's  estimate  of  the  cunning  of  the 
Indians  was  but  too  correct.     The  instant  the 

20 


230 


TUB  WILD   MAN  OP  THE  WEST. 


fur-traders  disappeared  behind  the  ridge,  as  if  on 
their  return  homewards,  several  of  their  fastest 
riders  were  despatclied  to  the  nearest  hill,  to 
watch  the  movements  of  the  enemy.  They  as- 
cended one  which  commanded  a  wide  view  of 
the  surrounding  country,  and  thence  beheld  the 
fur-traders  proceeding  swiftly  back  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  fort.  Unfortunately,  they  also  per- 
ceived the  bottle-brush  of  Bertram's  steed,  as  it 
disappeared  behind  the  crag  which  already  con- 
cealed the  rest  of  his  comrades  from  view.  One 
instant  later  and  the  Indians  would  have  failed  to 
make  this  discovery,  for  a  deep  impassable  gorge 
lay  between  them  and  the  ravine  which  con- 
ducted to  the  pass.  It  was  but  the  barest  possi- 
ble glimpse  they  got  of  ihat  shabby  tail;  but  it 
told  a  tale  which  they  perfectly  understood,  for 
they  flew  back  in  the  utmost  haste  1o  warn  th?ir 
comrades,  who,  knowing  the  smallness  of  the 
party  thus  sent  against  them,  from  the  largeness 
of  the  party  that  had  shammed  returning  to  tlie 
fort,  resolved  upon  executing  a  counter  move- 
ment. 

They  had  a  shrewd  suspicion,  from  the  nature 
of  the  country,  that  the  intention  of  the  whites 
was  to  get  through  a  pass  of  some  sort  and  in- 
tercept them,  and,  concluding  that  this  pass 
must  lie  at  the  head  of  the  valley  up  which  tht' 
bottle-brush  had  vanished,  they  resolved  to  pro- 
C5eed  to  the  same  spot  through  the   gorge  that 


AN   UNSEEN   WATCHER. 


231 


separated  the  hill  from  the  crag  or  rocky  ridge 
bi'lorc  referred  to. 

Proiriplitude  they  knew  to  be  every  thing,  so 
they  swept  up  the  gorge  like  a  whirlwind. 
Thus  both  parties  drew  nearer  to  the  chaotic 
opening  styled  the  Wild-cat  Pass,  —  the  trap- 
pers, all  ignorant  of  what  awaited  thein  there; 
(he  savages,  bent  on  giving  their  enemies  an 
unpleasant  surprise. 

But,  unknown  to  either,  there  was  a  pair  of 
eyes  high  on  a  rock  above  the  Wild-cat  Pass, — 
that  overlooked  the  two  valleys  or  ravines,  and 
gazed  with  considerable  interest  and  curiosity  on 
the  two  advancing  parties.  Those  eyes  belonged 
to  a  solitary  horseman,  v,  ho  stood  on  the  edge  of 
the  wild  precipice  that  overhung  the  pass.  The 
hunter,  for  such  his  leathern  dress  bespoke  him, 
stood  beside  his  horse,  his  right  arm  over  its 
arched  neck,  and  his  right  hand  patting  its  sleek 
shoulder.  From  the  position  which  he  occupied 
he  could  see  without  being  seen.  His  magnifi- 
cent steed  seemed  to  be  aware  that  danger  was 
at  hand,  for  it  stood  like  a  statue,  absolutely 
motionless,  with  the  exception  of  its  fine  fiery 
eyes.  Whatever  this  solitary  hunter's  thoughts 
regarding  the  two  approaching  parties  might  be, 
it  was  evident  that  he  meant  to  remain  an  invis- 
ible spectator  of  their  doings ;  for  he  stood  in  the 
same  attitude  of  statue-like  attention  until  they 
reached  the  heads  of  the  two  ravines,  where  they 


232 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF   THE   WEST. 


were  separated  from  each  other  only  by  the  pass, 
Here,  on  the  one  side,  the  Indians,  about  forty  in 
ii  amber,  lay  in  ambush  among  the  rocks,  pre- 
pared to  surprise  and  attack  the  trappers  when 
they  should  pass.  On  the  other  side  the  traj)- 
pcs  halted,  and,  dismounting,  allowed  their 
horses  to  graze,  while  they  awaited  the  arrivti] 
of  Macgregor  and  his  party. 

"  They  won't  be  long  o'  comin',"  remarked 
Redhand,  seating  himself  on  a  stone  and  pro- 
ceeding to  strike  a  light.  "  That  fellow,  Mac- 
gregor, an't  the  man  1o  waste  time  when  he's 
out  after  the  redsldns.  I  only  hope  he  won't 
waste  life  when  he  gets  up  to  them." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Bounce,  seating  himself  beside 
Redhand,  and  carefully  cutting  a  small  piece  of 
tobacco  into  shreds  by  means  of  a  scalping-kiiife. 
"  A  sartin  amount  o'  punishment  is  needful,  d'ye 
see,  to  keep  'em  down  ;  but  I  don't  like  slaugh- 
terin'  human  bein's  onnecessary  like." 

"  I'd  skiver  'em  all,  I  guess  —  every  one,"  ob- 
served Big  Waller  angrily.  "  They're  a  murder- 
in',  thievin'  set  o'  varmints,  as  don't  desarve  to 
live  nohow  I " 

"  Bah  !  "  exclaimed  Gibault  in  disgust ;  "  you 
is  most  iiwferfully  onfeelosophicule,  as  Bounce 
do  say.  If  dey  not  fit  for  live,  for  fat  vas  (fey 
made  ?     You  vicked  man  !  " 

Big  Waller  deigned  no  reply. 

**  I'm  off  to  look  at  the  pass,"  cried   Mav«h 


THE   WILD-CAT  PASS. 


233 


Marston,  vaulting  suddenly  hiio  the  saddle. 
"  Come,  Bertram ;  you'll  go  with  me,  won't 
you,  and  see  if  we  can  find  some  wild  cats  in 
it?" 

The  artist,  who  had  not  dismounted,  merely  re- 
plied by  a  nod  and  a  smile,  and  the  two  reckless 
youths  galloped  away,  heedless  of  Bounce's  warn- 
ing not  to  go  too  far,  for  fear  they  should  find 
something  worse  than  wild  cats  there. 

The  Wild-cat  Pass,  through  which  they  were 
speedily  picking  their  steps,  in  order  to  get  a 
view  of  the  country  beyond,  was  not  inappro- 
priately named  ;  for  it  seemed  at  the  first  glance 
of  those  who  entered  it,  as  if  no  creature  le^-s 
savagdy  reckless  than  a  wild  cat  could,  by  any 
possibility,  scramble  through  it  without  the  aid 
of  wings. 

The  greater  part  of  it  was  the  ancient  bed  of 
a  mountain  torrent,  whose  gushing  waters  had, 
owing  to  some  antediluvian  convulsion  of  nature, 
been  diverted  into  another  channel.  The  whole 
scene  was  an  absolute  chaos  of  rocks  which  had 
fallen  into  the  torrent's  bed  from  the  precipice 
that  hemmed  it  in  on  the  west,  and  these  rocky 
masses  lay  heaped  about  in  such  a  confused  way, 
that  it  was  extremely  diflScult  to  select  a  pathway 
along  which  the  horses  could  proceed  without 
running  great  risk  of  breaking  their  limbt-.  The 
entire  length  of  the  pass  could  not  have  been 
much  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  yet  il  took 

20* 


2S4: 


THE  WILD   MAN  OF   THE  WEST. 


March  Marston  and  his  companion  full  half  an 
hour  to  traverse  it. 

When  about  half  through  the  pass,  March,  who 
led  the  way,  drew  up  on  a  small  rocky  elevation, 
from  which  he  could  survey  the  amphitheatre  of 
rugged  and  naked  rocks  in  the  midst  of  which 
he  stood. 

"  Upon  my  word,  Bertram,"  he  said,  gazing 
round,  "  if  Bunyan  had  ever  been  in  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  I  think  he  would  have  chosen  such  ;i 
spot  as  this  for  the  castle  o'  Giant  Despair." 

"  I  know  not,"  replied  Bertram  with  a  deep 
sigh,  as  he  drew  rein,  "what  Bunyan  would  have 
done,  but  I  know  that  Giant  Despair  has  aheady 
located  himself  here,  for  he  has  been  trying  to 
take  possession  of  my  bosom  for  at  least  twenty 
minutes.  I  never  rode  over  such  ground  in  my 
life.  However,  it  ill  becomes  pioneers  to  be  over- 
come by  such  a  giant,  so  pray  push  on  ;  I  feel 
quite  eager  to  see  w^hat  sort  of  region  lies  beyond 
this  gloomy  portal." 

March  laughed  and  turned  to  cciitinue  the 
scramble ;  Bertram  removed  his  brigandish  hat, 
wiped  his  heated  brows,  replaced,  the  hat  firmly 
thereon,  and  drove  his  heels  violently  against  the 
ribs  of  his  horse,  an  act  which  induced  that  pa- 
tient quadruped  to  toss  its  head  and  shake  its 
bottle-brush  ere  it  condescended  to  move  on.  it 
was  quite  evident  that,  although  Bertram  spoke 
m  a  half  jesting  tone  of  Giant  Despair,  he  was 


BERTRAM   AND   MARCH   IN  THE  PASS. 


235 


ist  Ihe 
at  I )  li- 
ke its 
n.  It 
spcjke 
e  vvaa 


in  reality  much  delighted  with  the  singularity  of 
this  extemporized  and  interesting  ramble. 

"  I  say,  Bertram,  don't  you  like  this  sort  o' 
thing  ? "  inquired  March,  looking  back  at  his 
companion,  on  reaching  a  somewhat  level  part 
of  the  pass. 

"  Like  it  ?  Ay,  that  do  I.  I  love  it,  March. 
There  is  a  freedom,  a  species  of  wild  romance  about 
it,  that  is  more  captivating  than  I  can  describe." 

"  You  don't  need  to  describe  it,"  returned 
March,"  I  have  it  all  described  splendidly  within 
me.  One  don't  want  words  when  one's  got 
feelins.  But  I've  often  thought  what  a  pity  it  is 
that  we  can't  describe  things  or  places  at  all  with 
words.  At  least,  /  cant,"  he  added  modestly. 
"  When  I  try  to  tell  a  fellow  what  I've  seen,  it 
ain't  o'  no  manner  of  use  to  try,  for  I  don't  get 
hold  of  the  right  words  at  the  right  time,  and  so 
don't  give  out  the  right  meanin',  and  so  the  fellow 
I'm  speakin'  to  don't  take  up  the  right  notion, 
dVe  see  ?  It's  a  great  pity  that  words  are  such 
useless  things." 

"  Why,  that  was  spoken  like  Bounce  himself," 
said  Bertram,  smiling. 

"  Look  out,  or  you'D  go  bounce  into  that  hole, 
if  you  don't  have  a  care,"  cried  March,  turning 
aside  to  avoid  the  danger  refeiTed  to.  They  pro- 
c(3eded  through  the  remainder  of  the  pass  in 
silence,  as  the  rugged  nature  of  the  ground  rf  • 
quired  their  undivided  attention. 


V' 


236 


THE  WILD  MAN  OP  THE  WEST. 


Had  there  been  a  sprite  in  that  place,  who 
could  have  hopped  invisibly  to  some  elevated  pin- 
nacle, or  have  soared  on  gossamer  wings  to  the 
air,  so  as  to  take  in  a  bird's  eye  view  of  the  whole 
scene,  he  would  have  noted  that  while  March 
Marston  and  (he  artist  were  toiling  slowly  through 
the  Wild-cat  Pass,  the  solitary  hunter  befoic? 
referred  to  regarded  their  proceedings  with  some 
surprise,  and  that  when  he  saw  they  were  bent  on 
going  quite  through  the  pass,  his  expression 
changed  to  a  look  of  deep  concern. 

With  slow  and  gentle  hand  this  man  back(  d 
his  quiet  and  docile  horse  deeper  into  the  bush ; 
and  when  he  had  got  so  deep  into  the  shade  of 
the  forest,  as  to  be  perfectly  safe  from  observa- 
tion, he  leaped  on  its  back  with  a  single  bound, 
and  galloped  swiftly  away. 

A  few  minutes  after  the  occurrence  of  this 
incident,  Maich  and  his  friend  emer''3d  from  the 
pass  and  trotted  out  upon  a  level  plain  whence 
they  obtained  a  fine  view  of  the  magnificent 
country  beyond.  The  pass  from  which  they  had 
just  issued  ireemed  to  be  the  entrance  to  the  heurt 
of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  The  plain,  or  rathei 
the  plateau,  on  which  they  stood,  was  a  level  spot 
covered  with  soft  grass,  free  from  bushes,  and  not 
more  than  a  hundred  yards  in  extent.  On  three 
sides  it  was  encompassed  by  inaccesrible  preci- 
pices and  rocky  ground,  in  the  midst  of  which 
the  opening  out  of  the  pass  was  situated.     Or. 


A    STARTLING  DISCOVERY. 


237 


die  fourth  side  it  was  skirted  by  a  dense  thicket 
of  bushes  that  formed  the  entrance  to  a  magnifi- 
cent forest  which  extended  for  several  miles  in 
front  of  the  spot.  Beyond  this  forest  the  scene 
was  broken  by  hills  and  valleys,  and  little  plains, 
richly  di^'ersified  with  wood  and  water  —  the  for- 
mer in  dense  masses,  scattered  groups  and  isolated 
clusters ;  the  latter  shining  in  the  forms  of 
lakelet  and  stream,  or  glancing  snow-white  in 
numberfbss  cascades.  Beyond  all,  the  dark  blue 
giant  masses  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  towered  up 
and  up,  hill  upon  hill,  pile  upon  pile,  mass  on 
mass,  till  they  terminated  in  distant  peaks,  so 
little  darker  than  the  sky  that  they  seemed 
scarcely  more  solid  than  the  clouds  with  which 
they  mingled  and  blended  their  everlasting 
snows. 

"  An't  it  beautiful?"  cried  March,  riding  for- 
ward with  a  bounding  sensation  of  inexpressible 
d;'lii?ht.  , 

Bertram  followed  him,  but  did  not  answer.  He 
was  too  deeply  absorbed  in  the  simple  act  of  in- 
tently gazing  and  drinking  in  the  scene  to  listen 
or  to  reply. 

At  the  precise  moment  in  which  March  made 
the  above  remark,  his  quick  eye  observed  a  spear- 
head which  one  of  the  savages,  hid  among  the 
bushes  Ihere,  had  not  taken  sufficient  pains  to 
conceal. 

March  INlarstou  was  a  young  hunter,  and,  as 


238 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  TUE  WEST. 


yet,  an  inexperienced  warrior;  but  from  child- 
hood he  had  been  trained,  as  it  were,  in  spirit,  by 
the  anecdotes  and  tales  of  the  many  hunters  who 
had  visited  Pine  Point  settlement.  His  natural 
powers  of  self-control  were  very  great,  but  he  had 
to  tax  all  these  powers  to  the  uttermost  to  main- 
tain his  look  of  animated  delight  in  the  scenery 
unchanged,  after  making  ihe  above  startling  dis- 
covery. But  March  did  it !  His  first  severe  trial 
in  the  perils  of  backv/ood  life  had  come— without 
warning  or  time  for  preparation ;  and  he  passed 
through  the  ordeal  like  a  true  hero. 

That  a  spear-handle  must  necessarily  support  a 
spear-head ;  that  an  Indian  probably  grasped  the 
former;  that,  in  the  present  position  of  affairs, 
there  were  certainly  more  Indians  than  one  in 
ambush ;  and  that,  in  all  probability,  there  weve 
at  that  moment  two  or  three  dozen  arrows  rest- 
ing on  their  respective  bows,  and  pointed  toward 
his  and  his  comrade's  hearts,  ready  to  take  flight 
the  instant  they  should  come  within  sure  and 
deadly  range,  were  ideas  which  did  not  follow 
each  other  in  rapid  succession  through  his  brain, 
but  darted  upon  the  young  hunter's  quick  per- 
ceptions instantaneously,  and  caused  his  heart  to 
beat  on  his  ribs  like  a  sledge-hammer,  and  the 
blood  to  fly  violently  to  his  face. 

Luckily  March's  face  was  deeply  browned, 
and  did  not  show  the  crimson  tide.  With  a  sud- 
den, mighty  effort  he  checked  the  natural  look 


COOLNESS   OF  MARCH. 


239 


and  exclamation  of  surprise.  That  wjis  the  mo- 
ment of  danger  past.  To  continue  his  praise  of 
ihe  lovely  scene  in  gay  delighted  tones  was  com- 
paratively easy. 

"  Isn't  it  beautiful  ?  "  he  said,  turning  his  face 
fully  toward  the  ambushed  savages,  gazing  os'er 
Iheir  place  of  concealment  with  an  unconscious 
joyous  air,  and  sweeping  his  hand  toward  the 
mountains,  as  if  to  draw  the  attention  of  his  com- 
panion to  them.  March's  only  weapon  at  that 
moment  was  the  small  hatchet  he  was  wont  to 
carry  in  his  girdle.  This  implement  chanced  to 
be  in  his  hand.  Placing  it  carelessly  in  his  belt, 
as  though  nothing  was  further  from  his  mind 
than  the  idea  of  requiring  to  use  it  at  that  time, 
he  cried, — 

"  See,  yonder  is  a  mound  from  which  we  may 
get  a  better  view,"  and  trotted  to  the  summit  of 
the  spot  alluded  to.  In  doing  so  he  placed  him- 
self still  nearer  to  the  Indians.  This  was  a  bold 
stroke,  though  a  dangerous  one,  meant  to  deceive 
the  enemy.  After  gazing  a  few  seconds  from  this 
spot,  he  wheeled  round  and  walked  his  horse 
quietly  toward  the  entrance  to  the  pass.  Arrived 
there,  he  turned,  and  pretending  that  he  saw 
something  in  the  far  distance,  he  shaded  his  eyes 
with  his  hand  and  gazed  for  a  short  time  intently, 
then  calling  to  Bertram,  who  still  remained  in  his 
original  position  all  unconscious  of  his  danger 
said: —  • 


j  ! 


240 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF   THE   WEST, 


"  I  say,  come  here ;  look  at  yonder  splendid 
lake,  it's  worth  seeing,  —  ivell  worth  seeing ;  and 
if  you  don't  see  it  with  that  curious  light  on  it, 
you'll  not  care  to  see  it  at  all." 

March  did  not  dare,  by  eiiergy  of  voice,  to 
force  his  friend's  attention,  therefore  the  first  part 
of  this  speech  was  unheeded ;  but  the  reference 
to  a  "curious  light"  had  the  desired  effect. 
Bertram  turned,  and  rode  to  join  Us  companion. 
Getting  Bertram  into  such  a  position  that  his 
own  person  partially  screened  him  from  the 
Indians,  he  made  ^'^e  following  remarkable  speech, 
from  beginning  to  end,  in  the  gay  tones  of  one 
who  discourses  eloquently  3n  the  beauties  of 
nature ;  pointing  here  and  there  as  he  rattled  on. 

"  An't  it  beautiful  ?  eh !  I  say,  just  look  at  it 
now!  —  listen  to  me,  Bertram  —  attentively,  but 
gaze  admiringly  at  the  scene — at  the  scene — oh! 
man,  G?o  what  I  bid  ye  —  your  life  hangs  on  it. 
Pretend  to  admire  it  —  we're  in  great  danger  — 
but  — 


» 


"  Eh !  what !  where  ?  "  exclaimed  the  artist  in 
a  tone  of  intense  excitement,  at  the  same  time 
laying  his  hand  on  one  of  his  pistols  and  gazing 
anxiously  all  round  him. 

Alas !  poor  Bertram.  It  needed  not  the  acute 
apprehension  of  a  redskin  to  understand  that  you 
had  been  told  of  present  danger.  Neither  did  it 
require  much  acuteness  on  the  part  of  March  to 
divine  what  was  to  follow. 


clare, 


THE   ENCOUNTER. 


241 


Scarcely  had  the  symptoms  of  alarm  bee  i  ex- 
hibited, when  four  arrows  whizzed  through  the 
air  and  passed  close  to  the  persons  of  the  two 
friends,  who  instantly  turned  and  made  a  dash  for 
tlio  entrance  of  the  pass.  At  the  same  time  the 
savages  uttered  a  yell  and  darted  after  them. 

"  We'll  never  be  able  to  escape  by  the  pass," 
exclaimed  March,  looking  behind  him  hurriedly, 
as  they  approached  the  rocky  gorge,  "  and,  I  de- 
clare, there  s  only  four  o'  them  on  foot.  Come, 
Bertram,  let's  make  a  bold  stroke  for  it.  We'll 
easy  break  through  'em." 

He  reined  up  so  suddenly  as  almost  to  throw 
the  horse  on  its  haunches,  and,  wheeling  round, 
darted  toward  the  savages.  Bertram  followed, 
almost  mechanically. 

The  Indians  offered  no  opposition,  but  at  that 
moment  another  yell  rose  from  the  bushes,  and 
about  thirty  mounted  Indians,  who  had  been  con- 
cealed behind  a  projecting  cliff,  sprang  forward 
and  closed  up  the  only  pi  ce  of  escape  with  a 
formidable  array  of  spears.  From  their  not  using 
their  arrows  it  was  evident  that  they  wished  to 
capture  the  white  men  alive,  for  the  purpose,  no 
doubt,  of  taking  them  home  to  their  wigwams, 
there  to  put  them  to  death  by  slow  torture  with 
the  assistance  of  their  squaws. 

March  Marston's  spirit  rose  with  the  occasion. 
He  uttered  a  furious  cry,  flourished  his  hatchet 
above  his  head,  and  dashed  at  full  gallop  toward 

21 


iti 


242 


THE  WILD   MAN   OF   THE    .VEST. 


the  line.  Seeii^g  this,  one  of  ^he  Indians  levelled 
his  spear  and  rode  out  to  meet  him.  Bei-train'a 
nerve3  recovced  at  that  moment.  He  fired  both 
pistols  at  the  advancing  savage,  but  without 
elFect.  Ill  despair  he  hurled  one  of  1  hem  violently 
at  the  head  of  the  Indian.  The  missile  went 
true  fo  the  mark  and  felled  him.  On  beholdini» 
this  I  lie  whole  body  of  savages  rushed  upon  the 
two  white  men.  ' 

One  powerful  Indian  seized  March  by  the 
throat.  Before  either  could  use  his  weapon  the 
horses  separated  ;nid  both  fell  violently  to  tli3 
ground.  Bertram  leaped  o(F  his  horse  and  sprang 
to  the  rescue,  but  he  was  instantly  surrounded, 
and  for  a  few  seconds  defended  himself  with  the 
butt  of  his  large  cavalry  pistol  with  an  amount  of 
energy  and  activity  that  would  have  filled  those 
who  knew  him  best  with  amazement.  At  that 
moment  tl  ire  was  a  clatter  of  hoofs  in  the  gorge, 
and  a  roar  or  bellow  was  heard  above  the  din  of 
the  fight.  All  eyes  were  turned  toward  the  pass, 
and  next  moment  a  solitary  horseman  leaped 
over  the  broken  rocks  and  bounded  over  the  turf 
toward  the  combatants. 

The  aspect  of  this  new  comer  was  something 
terrible  to  behold.  Both  he  and  his  horse  were 
gigantic  in  size.  The  man  was  dressed  in  the  cos- 
tume of  an  Indian,  bnt  his  hair  and  beard  were 
those  of  a  white  man.  The  mane  and  tail  of  his 
huge  horse  were  of  enormous  length,  and  as  he 


THE   WILD   MAN   COMES   TO   THE  RESCUE.      243 


swept  over  the  Utile  plain,  which  seemed  to 
tremble  beneath  his  hea^y  tread,  the  wind  blew 
out  these  and  the  tngs  and  scalplocks  of  his  coat 
and  leggings  as  well  as  his  own  beard  and  hair  in 
such  a  confused  and  commingled  way  as  to  make 
Ihe  man  and  horse  appear  like  one  monstrous 
creature. 

The  Indians  turned  to  flee,  but,  seeing  only  one 
enemy,  they  hesitated.  In  another  moment  the 
wild  horseman  was  upon  them.  He  carried  a 
round  shield  on  his  left  arm  and  a  long  double- 
edged  sword  in  his  right  hand.  Two  Indians 
lowered  their  spears  to  receive  him.  The  point  of 
one  he  turned  aside  with  his  shield,  and  the  shock 
of  his  heavy  war-horse  hurled  horse  and  man 
upon  the  plain.  The  other  he  cut  the  iron  head 
off  with  a  swoop  of  his  sword,  and,  with  a  con- 
tinual ion  of  the  same  cut,  he  cleft  his  opponent  to 
the  chin.  Turning  rapidly,  he  bounded  into  the 
very  midst  of  the  savages,  uttering  another  of  his 
tremendous  roars  of  indignation.  The  sudden- 
ness of  this  act  prevented  the  Indians  from  using 
their  bows  and  arrows  effectively.  Before  they 
could  fit  an  arrow  to  the  string  two  more  of  their 
nu  ber  lay  in  the  agonies  of  death  on  the  ground. 
Se,  ral  arrows  were  discharged,  but  the  per- 
t'  iation  of  those  who  discharged  them,  and  their 
clos^  proximity  to  th;ir  mark,  caused  them  to 
shoot  wide.  Most  of  the  shafts  missed  him.  Two 
quivered  in  his  shield,  and  one  pierced  the  sleeve 


Hi 

h 


244 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF   THE   WEST. 


of  his  coat.  Turning  again  to  renew  his  rapid 
attacks  he  observed  one  of  the  Indians —  probably 
a  chief  —  leap  to  one  side,  and  turning  round,  fit 
an  arrow  \^'ith  calm  deliberation  to  his  bow.  The 
furious  horseman,  although  delivering  his  sweep- 
ing  blows  right  and  left  with  indiscriminate  reck- 
le.st^n(»ss,  seemed  during  the  meltc  to  have  an 
intuitive  perception  of  where  the  greatest  danger 
lay.  The  savages  at  that  moment  were  whirling 
round  him  and  darting  at  him  in  all  directions, 
but  he  singled  out  this  chief  at  once  and  bore 
down  upon  him  like  a  thunderbolt.  The  chief 
was  a  brave  man.  He  did  not  wince,  but,  draw- 
ing the  arrow  to  his  head  as  the  other  approached, 
let  it  fly  full  at  his  breast.  The  white  man  dropped 
on  the  neck  of  his  steed  as  if  he  had  been  stniciv 
with  lightning;  the  arrow  passed  close  over  his 
back  and  found  its  mark  in  the  breast  of  one  of 
the  savages,  whose  death-yell  mingled  with  that 
of  the  chief  as,  a  moment  later,  the  gigantic 
warrior  ran  him  with  a  straight  point  throngh 
the  body. 

The  Indians  were  scattered  now.  The  rapid 
dash  of  that  tumultuous  fight,  although  of  but  a 
few  seconds'  duration,  had  swept  the  combatants 
to  the  extreme  edge  of  the  woods,  leaving  Ber- 
tram standing  in  the  midst  of  dead  and  dying 
men  gazing  with  a  bewildered,  helpless  look  at 
the  terrible  scene.  March  Marston  lay  close  by 
his   side,  apparently  dead,  in   the   gripe  of  the 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


U'\ 


'w 


>  W  i'l 


Ki  fir 


^M 


Page  lU. 


THE  TRADERS  PURSUE  THE  INDIANS.   245 


savage  who  had  first  attacked  him,  and  whose 
throat  his  own  hand  grasped  with  the  tenacity 
and  force  of  a  vice. 

Most  of  the  Indians  leaped  over  the  bushes  and 
sought  ihe  shelter  of  the  thick  underwood,  as  the 
tremendous  horseman,  whom  doubtless  they  now 
deemed  invulnerable,  came  thundering  down  upon 
them  again  ;  but  about  twenty  of  the  bravest  stood 
their  ground.  At  that  moment  a  loud  shout  and 
a  fierce  "  hurrah !  "  rang  out  and  echoed  hither 
and  thither  among  the  rocks ;  and,  next  instant, 
Big  Waller,  followed  by  Bounce  and  his  friends, 
as  well  as  by  Macgregor  and  his  whole  party, 
sprang  from  the  Wild-cat  Pass,  and  rushed 
furiously  upon  the  savages,  who  had  already 
turned  and  fled  toward  the  wood  for  shelter. 
The  whole  band  crossed  the  battle-field  like  a 
whirlwind,  leaped  over  or  burst  through  the 
bushes,  and  were  gone,  —  the  crashing  tread  of 
their  footsteps  and  an  occasional  shout  alone  re- 
maining to  assure  the  bewildered  artist,  who  was 
still  transfixed  immovable  to  the  ground,  that  the 
whole  scene  was  not  a  dream. 

But  Bertram  was  not  left  alone  on  that  bloody 
field.  On  the  first  sound  of  the  approach  of  the 
white  men  to  the  rescue,  the  strange  horseman, 
—  who,  from  the  moment  of  his  bursting  so  op- 
portunely on  the  scene,  had  seemed  the  very 
impeisonation  of  activity  and  colossal  might, — 
pulled  uji  his  fiery  steed  ;  and  he  now  sat,  gazing 

21  *       . , , 


246 


THE   WILD   MAN  "DF   THE   WEST. 


calmly  into  the  forest  in  the  direction  in  which 
the  Indians  and  traders  had  disappeared. 

Siupefied  though  he  was,  Bertram  could  not 
avoid  being  impressed  and  surprised  by  the 
sudden  and  total  change  which  had  come  over 
this  remarkable  hunter.  After  gazing  into  the 
woods,  as  we  have  said,  for  some  minutes,  he 
quietly  dismounted,  and  plucking  a  tuft  of  grass 
from  the  plain,  wiped  his  bloody  sword,  and 
sheathed  it.  Not  a  trace  of  his  late  ferocity  was 
visible.  His  mind  seemed  to  be  filled  with  sad- 
ness, for  he  sighed  slightly  and  shook  his  head 
with  a  look  of  deep  sorrow,  as  his  eyes  rested  on 
the  dead  men.  There  was  a  mild  gravity  in  his 
'^,  -'bountenance  that  seemed  to  Bertram  incompatible 
with  the  fieiid-like  fury  of  his  attack,  and  a  slow 
heaviness  in  his  motions  that  amounted  almost 
to  laziness,  and  seemed  equally  inconsistent  with 
the  vigor  he  had  so  recently  displayed,  which  was 
almost  cat-like,  if  we  may  apply  such  a  term  to 
the  actions  of  so  huge  a  pair  as  this  man  and  his 
horse  were. 

A  profusion  of  light  brown  hair  hung  in  heavy 
masses  over  his  Herculean  shoulders,  and  a  bushy 
moustache  and  beard  of  the  same  color  covered 
the  lower  part  of  his  deeply  browned  face,  which 
was  handsome  and  mild,  but  eminently  mascu- 
line, in  expression. 

Remounting  his  horse,  which  seemed  now  to 
be  as  quiet  and  peaceable  as  himself,  this  singuiai 


upon 


Bertram's  alarm  on  seeing  march.     247 


being  turned  and  rode  toward  that  part  of  the 
wood  that  lay  nearest  to  the  wild  rocky  masses 
that  formed  the  outlet  from  the  pass.  On  gain- 
ing the  verge  of  the  plain  he  turned  his  head 
full  round,  and  fixed  his  clear  blue  eyes  on  the 
wondering  artist.  A  quiet  smile  played  on  his 
bronzed  features  for  an  instant,  as  he  bestowed 
upon  him  a  cheerful  nod  of  farewell.  Then, 
urging  his  steed  forward,  he  entered  the  woods 
at  a  slow  walk,  and  disappeared. 

The  heavy  tramp  of  his  horse's  hoofs  among 
the  broken  stones  of  the  rugged  path  had  scarcely 
died  away,  when  the  distant  tread  of  the  return- 
ing fur- traders  broke  on  Bertram's  ear.  This 
aroused  him  from  the  state  of  half-sceptical  hor- 
ror in  which  he  gazed  upon  the  scene  of  blood 
and  death  in  the  midst  of  which  he  stood. 
Presently  his  eye  fell,  for  the  first  time,  upon  the 
motionless  form  of  March  Marston.  The  sight 
effectually  restored  him.  With  a  slight  cry  of 
alarm,  he  sprang  to  his  friend's  side,  and,  kneel- 
ing down,  endeavored  to  loosen  the  death-like 
grasp  with  which  he  still  held  the  throat  of  his 
foe.  The  horror  of  the  poor  artist  may  be  imag- 
ined, when  he  observed  that  the  skull  of  the 
Indian  was  battered  in,  and  that  his  young 
comrade's  face  was  bespattered  with  blood  and 
brains. 

Just  then  several  of  the  trappers  and  fur-trad 
ers  galloped  upon  the  scene  of  the  late  skirmish. 


itf 


I 


248 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


"  Hallo !  Mr.  Bertram,  here  you  are ;  guesa 
we've  polished  'em  off  this  time  a  few.  Hey! 
wot's  this  ?  "  cried  Big  Waller,  as  he  and  some 
the  others  leaped  to  the  ground  and  surrounded 
Bertram.     "  Not  dead,  is  he  ?  " 

The  tone  in  which  the  Yankee  trapper  said 
this  betrayed  as  much  rage  as  regret.  The  bare 
idea  of  his  young  comrade  having  been  killed  by 
the  savages  caused  him  to  gnash  his  teeth  with 
suppressed  passion. 

"  Out  o'  the  way,  lads ;  let  me  see  him,"  cried 
Bounce,  who  galloped  up  at  that  moment,  flung 
himself  off  his  horse,  pushed  the  others  aside,  and 
kneeling  at  his  side,  laid  his  hand  on  March 
Marston's  heart. 

"  All  right,"  he  said,  raising  the  youth's  head, 
"  he's  only  stunned.  Run,  Gibault,  fetch  a  drop 
o'  water.  The  horse  that  brained  this  here  red- 
skin, by  good  luck,  only  stunned  March." 

"Ah!  mon  pauvre  enfant !"  cried  Gibault,  as 
he  ran  to  obey. 

The  water  quickly  restored  March,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  he  was  able  to  sit  u[)  and  caU  to 
remembrance  what  had  passed.  Ere  his  scat- 
tered faculties  were  quite  recovered,  the  fur-tracJ- 
ers  returned,  with  Macgregor  at  their  head. 

"well  done,  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West!'' 
cried  McLeod,  as  he  dismounted.  "  Not  badly 
hurt,  young  man,  I  trust."  ^ 

"  Oh !  nothing  to  speak  of.     Only  a  thump  on 


thing 


DIFrEIlENT  IDEAS   ABOUT   THE  WILD  SIAN.      249 


the  head  from  a  horse's  hoof,"  said  March  ;  "  Til 
be  all  right  in  a  little  time.  Did  you  say  any 
thing  about  the  Wild  Man.  of  the  West?"  he 
added  earnestly. 

''  To  be  sure  I  did  ;  but  for  him  you  and  Mr. 
Bertram  would  have  been  dead  men,  I  fear.  Did 
you  not  see  him  ?  " 

"  See  him  ?  no,"  replied  March,  much  excited. 
•'  I  heard  a  tremendous  roar,  but  just  then  I  fell 
to  the  ground,  and  remember  nothing  more  that 
happened." 

"  Was  that  quiet  grave-looking  man  the  Wild 
Man  of  the  West  ?"  inquired  Bertram,  with  a 
mingled  feeling  of  interest  and  surprise.  - 

This  speech  was  received  with  a  loud  burst  of 
laughter  from  all  v  ho  heard  it. 

"  Well,  I've  never  seed  the  Wild  Man  till 
to-day,"  said  one,  "  though  I've  often  heer'd  of 
him,  but  I  must  say  the  little  glimpse  I  got  didn't 
show  much  that  w-as  mild  or  grave." 

"  I  guess  your  head's  bin  in  a  swum,  stranger," 
said  another,  "  I've  only  seed  him  this  once,  but 
I  don't  hope  to  see  him  agin.  He  ain't  to  be 
trusted,  he  ain't,  that  feller." 

"  And  I've  seen  him  five  or  six  times,"  added 
McLeod,  "  and  all  I  can  say  is,  that  twice  out  o' 
the  five  he  was  like  an  incarnate  fiend,  and  the 
other  three  times  —  when  he  came  to  the  Moun- 
tain Fort  for  ammunition  —  he  was  as  gruff  and 
sulky  as  a  hem  wath  the  measles." 


250 


THE  WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


"  Well,  gentlemen,"  said  Bertram,  with  more 
emphasis  in  his  tone  tlian  he  was  wont  to  em- 
ploy, "  I  have  secii  Jhis  man  only  once,  but  I've 
seen  him  under  two  aspects  to-day,  and  all  that 
I  can  say  is,  that  if  that  was  really  the  Wild 
Man  of  the  West,  he's  not  quite  so  wild  as  ho 
gets  credit  for." 

On  hearing  this,  March  Marston  rose  and 
shook  himself.  He  felt  ill  at  ease  in  body  and 
mind.  The  idea  of  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West 
having  actually  saved  his  life,  and  he  not  seen 
him,  was  a  heavy  disappointment,  and  the  con- 
fused and  conflicting  accounts  of  those  who  had 
seen  him,  combined  with  the  racking  pains  that 
shot  through  his  own  brain,  rendered  him  inca- 
pable of  forming  or  expressing  any  opinion  on 
the  subject  whatever;  so  he  said,  abruptly:  — 

"  It's  of  no  use  talking  here  all  night,  friends. 
My  head's  splittin',  so  I  think  we'd  better  en- 
camp." 

March's  suggestion  was  adopted  at  once. 
Provisions  had  been  carried  with  them  from  the 
fort.  The  dead  bodies  of  the  Indians  wc^^a 
buried ;  a  spot  at  some  distance  from  the  facene 
of  the  fight  was  chosen.  The  fires  were  lighted, 
supper  was  devoured  and  a  watch  set,  arid  soon 
March  Marston  was  dreaming  wildly  in  that 
savage  place  about  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West! 


THE  TRAPPERS  PART  FROM  THE  TRADERS.  251 


CHA.PTER  XIV. 


■  i;; 


The  nunting-grouiid.  —  How  they  spent  the  Sabbath  Day 
among  tlie  Mountams.  —  Threatening  Clouds  on  the  Hori- 
zon. 


Next  day  the  fur-traders  prepared  to  return  to 
the  Mountain  Fort,  and  the  trappers  to  continue 
their  journey  into  the  Rocky  Mountains. 

At  the  period  of  which  we  write,  the  fur  of 
the  beaver  was  much  in  demand  in  the  European 
markets,  and  trappers  devoted  much  of  their  time 
to  the  capture  of  that  sagacious  animal.  From 
McLeod,  Redhand  learned  that  a  journey  of  eight 
or  ten  days  to  the  south-eastward  would  bring 
them  to  a  country  that  was  reported  to  be  much 
frequented  not  only  by  the  beaver,  but  by  many 
other  fur-bearing  and  wild  animals;  so  it  was 
resolved  that,  having  brought  their  traps  and 
supplies  with  them,  the  trappers,  instead  of  re- 
turning to  the  fort,  should  part  with  their  enter- 
tainers at  the  spot  where  the  skirmish  had  oc- 
curred, and  make  for  that  h-unting-ground  as 
quickly  as  possible. 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  want  to  part  company 
with  us  yet,  Mr.  Bertram,"  said  old  Redhand,  as 
they  were  about  to  start. 


852 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF   THE   WEST. 


"  By  no  means,"  replied  the  artist  quickly,  "  1 
have  no  intention  of  quitting  you  —  that  is,  if 
you  do  not  find  me  a  burden  on  your  hands ; '' 
he  added  with  a  sad  smile. 

"  A  burden !  "  cried  Bounce  in  surprise,  "  I  tell 
ye  wot,  '  ir,  I  r^nslder  yer  company  a  honor.* 

"  So  T  .  1^  ,  n't  return  with  us,  young  ma  •  ?  " 
said  Macg  '•  i !  m>  March  Marston,  as  lie  moiuitcd 
his  horse,  "  I'm  in  ant  of  a  stout  yovmg  fellow, 
and  you'll  like  the  life." 

"  I  thank  ye,  sir,  for  your  good  opinion,"  re- 
turned March,  "  but  my  mind's  made  up,  I'll 
stick  by  my  comrades  ;  I  like  trappin',  but  I  don't 
like  Iradin'  —  though  I'm  obliged  to  you  for  bein' 
so  pressin'  all  the  same." 

The  two  parties  bade  each  other  adieu  and 
separated — the  one  retracing  its  way  through  the 
Wild-cat  Pass ;  the  other,  with  old  Redhimd  at 
its  head,  descending  into  the  beautiful  country 
that  has  been  briefly  described  in  the  last  chapter. 

Six  quiet  and  peaceful  weeks  now  succeeded  to 
the  stormy  period  that  had  just  passed.  During 
this  time  they  wandered  pleasantly  about  in  us 
beautiful  a  region  of  the  world  as  the  heart  of 
man  could  wish  to  dwell  in.  They  reached  this 
country  after  several  days'  travel.  After  arriving 
they  moved  about  from  one  beautiful  spot  to 
another,  netting  their  beaver-traps  in  the  streams, 
and  remaining  a  longer  or  shorter  time  at  each 
place,  according  to  their  success  in  trapping  and 
hunting. 


THE  HUNTING-GROUND. 


2o 


-3 


The  country  was  of  so  peculiarly  diversified  a 
formation,  that,  within  the  compass  of  ten  miles, 
every  possible  variety  of  scenery  existed,  —  from 
the  level  stretch  of  prairie  to  the  towering  snow- 
peaks  of  the  mountains ;  from  the  brake-encom- 
passed swamp,  in  which  the  frogs,  ducks,  geese, 
plover,  and  other  denizens  of  the  marshes  main- 
tained perpetual  jubilee,  to  the  dry  bush-dotted 
mounds  and  undulating  lands,  where  the  badger 
dehghted  to  burrow  in  the  sandy  soil,  wiiile  in 
other  places,  the  wolf,  the  fox,  and  the  grisly  he\  •• 
jH'ovded  amid  ihe  dark  recesses  of  the  forest. 

It  was  a  truly  beautiful  and  a  precminertl}; 
enjoyable  region,  and,  in  the  midst  of  it,  u*  ^er 
the  spreading  branches  of  a  magnificent  pme, 
which  grew  on  the  top  of  a  little  mound  that 
commanded  an  extensive  prospect  on  every  side, 
the  trappers  pitched  their  camp,  and  began  their 
campaign  against  the  fur-bearing  animals  that 
dwelt  there. 

It  was  a  qui'k'fc  sunny  Sabbath  morning  when 
our  trappers  ai^'ved  at  the  tree  above  referred  to. 
They  had  en^  "imped  the  previous  night  on  a 
swampy  piect  of  ground,  having  travelled  too  late 
to  aflbrd  time  ''a)  search  for  a  better  spot,  so  that 
they  were  gla  (  to  rise  and  push  forward  at  the 
peep  of  day  oy  Sabbath.  But  when,  in  the  course 
of  a  couple  '.>f  hours,  they  reached  the  dry  coun- 
try, they  at  once  proceeded  to  encamp. 

Duriag   ^heir   journeying    the    trappers    had 

22 


254 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


mutually  agreed  to  rest  from  all  labor  on  the 
Sabbath  day.  Some  of  them  did  so  from  no 
higher  motive  than  the  feeling  that  it  was  good 
for  themselves  and  for  their  beasts  to  rest  one  day 
in  seven  from  bodily  labor.  Although  not  abso- 
mtely  regardless  of  religion,  they  nevertheh^ss 
failed  to  connect  this  necessity  of  theirs  with  tiie 
appointment  of  a  day  of  rest  by  that  kind  and 
gi'acious  Father,  who  has  told  us  that  "  the  Sab- 
bath was  made  for  man."  Made  for  him  not  only, 
and  chiefly,  for  the  benefit  of  his  soul,  but  also, 
and  secondarily,  for  the  good  of  his  body. 

Others  of  the  party  there  were,  however,  who 
regarded  the  Sabbath  rest  in  a  somewhat  higher 
light  than  did  their  comrades ;  though  none  of 
them  were  fully  alivs  to  the  blessings  and  piivi- 
leges  attaching  to  the  faithful  keeping  of  Ihe 
Lord's  Day.  Independently  altogether  of  the 
delight  connected  with  the  contemplation  of  the 
wonderful  works  of  God  in  the  wilderness — espec- 
ially of  that  beautiful  portion  of  ihe  wilderness  — 
the  trappers  experienced  a  sensation  of  intense 
pleasure  in  the  simple  act  of  physical  repose  after 
their  long,  restless,  and  somewhai  exciting  journey. 
They  wandered  about  from  spot  to  spot,  from  hill 
to  hill,  in  a  species  of  charming  indolence  of  body, 
that  seemed  to  increase,  rather  than  to  diminish, 
tile  activity  of  their  minds.  Sometimes  they 
rambled  or  rested  on  the  sunny  slopes  in  groups, 
sometimes   in   couples,   and   sometimes   singly 


TUEOLOGY  OP  MARCH  AND  EERTRAM.   255 


March  M;irston  and  the  artist  sauniercd  about 
together,  and  conversed  with  animated  fluency 
and  wandering  volubility  —  as  young  minds  are 
wont  to  do  —  on  Ihings  past,  present,  and  to  come ; 
things  terrestrial  and  celestial.  In  short,  there 
was  no  subject,  almost,  that  did  not  get  a  share  of 
tlicir  attention,  as  they  sauntered  by  the  rippling 
brook  or  over  the  flowering  plain,  or  stood  upon 
the  mountain  side.  They  tried  '*  every  thing  by 
turns,  and  nothing  long,"  and,  among  other 
mental  occupations,  they  read  portions  of  the 
Bible  together;  for  Bertram  found  that  March 
can-ied  his  mother's  Testament  in  an  inner  breast- 
pocket of  his  hunting-shirt,  and  March  discovered 
that  his  friend  had  a  small  copy  of  the  Bible  — 
also  a  mother's  gift  —  which  shared  the  pouch  of 
his  leather  coat  with  the  well-known  sketch-book. 
They  conversed  freely  and  somewhat  boldly  on 
what  they  read,  and  we  doubt  not  that  our  learned 
divines,  had  they  listened  to  the  talk  of  the 
youthful  pioneer  and  the  young  hunter,  would 
have  been  surprised,  perhaps  edified,  by  the 
simple,  practical,  common-sense  views  promul- 
gated by  those  raw  theologians.  Certainly,  any 
one  listening  to  the  grave,  kindly,  philosophical 
commentary  of  March  Marston,  would  never  have 
believed  in  the  truth  of  that  statement  at  the 
commencement  of  this  story,  wherein  it  is  as- 
serted somewhat  positively  that "  March  Marston 
was  mad ! " 


?'! 


ill 


t  ; 


256 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


Bounce,  and  Big  Wuller,  and  Black  Gibault, 
drew  naturally  together  and  speculated,  after 
their  own  peculiar  fashion,  on  every  subject  of 
thought  witiiin  the  reach  of  their  capacities  ;  and 
as  Bounce's  capacities  embraced  a  pretty  wide 
range,  the  "  feelosophical "  views  he  set  forth  upon 
that  lovely  Sabbath  day  were  so  varied,  so  eccen- 
tric, so  graphic,  and  so  apparently  inexhaustible, 
that  he  eHeelually  quelled  Gibault's  inveterate 
tendency  to  jest,  and  filled  Big  Waller  with 
deeper  admiration  than  ever. 

As  for  Redhand  and  the  Indian,  they  wandered 
about  in  sympathetic  sUence,  broken  ever  and 
anon  by  the  old  traj)per  passing  a  remark  on 
some  interesting  peculiarity  of  a  leaf,  an  insect, 
or  a  flower.  It  has  been  said,  that  as  men  grow 
older  they  find  deeper  pleasure  in  the  contempli- 
tion  of  the  minute  things  of  nature,  and  are  less 
desirous  than  they  were  wont  to  expatiate  on  the 
striking  and  the  grand.  What  truth  there  is  in 
the  remark  we  cannot  tell ;  but,  certain  it  is,  while 
the  younger  men  of  the  party  seemed  to  cast 
longing,  admiring,  and  gladsome  looks  over  tlie 
distant  landscape,  and  up  at  the  snow  and  cloud- 
encompassed  heights  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  old 
Redhand  bent  his  eyes,  we  might  almost  say 
lovingly,  on  the  earth.  He  would  sit  down  on  a 
stone,  and  pluck  a  leaf,  which  he  would  examine 
with  minnte  care ;  or  watch  with  the  deepest 
Interest  tlie  frantic  efforts  of   a   little  ant,  as  it 


camp 
satisfit 


THE   FIRST   DAY   OP  TRAPPING. 


257 


Btaggered  along  under  its  gigantic  burden  of  a 
single  seed,  climbing  over  a  mountainous  twig, 
tuinijiing  into  a  cavernous  hole  the  size  of  a  hazel- 
nut, or  being  brought  to  a  hesitating  pause  by  a 
mountain-torrent  a  quarter  of  an  inch  broad. 

Tim  sedate  Indian  took  special  pleasure  in 
watching  the  doings  of  his  old  friend.  Usually, 
he  contented  himself  with  a  grunt  oi'  assent  when 
Kedhand  made  a  remark  on  the  peculiarities  of  a 
plant  or  an  insect,  but  Sometimes  he  ventured  on  a 
brief  observation,  and  occasionally  even  proposed 
a  question  to  his  aged  companion,  which  Redhand 
found  it  difficult  to  answer.  There  was  little 
interchange  of  thought  between  those  two  silent 
men,  but  there  was  much  of  quiet  enjoyment. 

So  passed  the  Sabbath  day.  Early  on  the  follow- 
ing morning  the  trappers  were  astir,  and  before  the 
sun  tinged  the  mountain-peaks,  their  beaver-traps 
were  set,  an  extensive  portion  of  the  territory  they 
hid  thus  quietly  taken  possession  of  had  been 
explored  in  several  directions,  a  couple  of  deer  had 
been  shot,  a  mountain-goat  seen,  and  a  grisly  bear 
driven  from  his  den  and  pursued,  but  not  killed ; 
besides  a  number  of  wild  fowl  having  been  bagged, 
and  an  immcH  ^e  number  of  creatures,  including 
mustangs,  or  wiid  horses,  roused  from  their  lairs. 

When  the  sca+tered  hunters  returned  to  the 
camp  to  breakfast,  they  found  themselves  in  a 
satisfied,  happy  state  of  mind,  with  a  strong  dis- 
position, on  the  part  of  some,  to  break  their  fast 

22* 


1  ' 


258 


THE   WILD   MAN  OF   THE  WEST. 


without  wasting  time  in  cooking  the  viands.  "  li 
was  of  DO  manner  of  use  cooking,"  Big  Waller 
^aid,  "  when  a  feller  wa.^  fit  to  eat  his  own  head 
off  of  hi?  own  shoulders ! ''  as  for  Gibault,  he 
derl'ired  that  he  meant  to  give  up  cooking  hivS 
victuals  from  that  time  forward,  and  eat  them  raw. 
The  others  seemed  practically  to  have  come  to 
the  same  conclusion,  for  certain  it  is,  that  the 
breakfast,  when  devoured  on  that  first  Monday 
morning,  was  decidedly  underdone,  —  to  use  a 
mild  expression ! 

But  it  was  when  the  pipes  were  lighted  that 
the  peculiarities  and  capabilities  of  that  wild 
region  became  fully  known,  for  then  it  was  that 
each  hunter  began  1o  relate  with  minute  accuracy 
the  adventures  of  that  morning.  As  they  had 
scattered  far  and  wide,  and  hunted  or  trapped 
separately,  each  had  something  new  and  more  or 
less  interesting  to  tell.  March  told  of  how  he 
had  shor  a  gray  goose,  and  had  gone  into  a 
moving  swamp  after  it,  and  had  sunk  up  to  the 
middle,  and  all  but  took  to  swimming  to  save 
himself,  but  had  got  hold  of  the  goo.se,  notwith- 
standing, as  the  drumstick  he  had  just  picked 
would  testify.  Bounce  told  of  having  gone  aftrr 
a  moose-dier,  and,  failing  to  come  up  with  it,  was 
f  in  to  content  himself  with  a  bighorn  and  a 
buck ;  and  Big  Waller  asserted  that  he  had 
suddenly  come  upon  a  grisly  bear,  which  he 
would  certainly  have  shot,  had  it  not  run  away 


had 
ich   he 
away 


SUCCESS   OF   THE   TRAPPEKS 


259 


from  him.  Whereupon  Gibault,  \\'ilfully  mis- 
understanding, said,  with  a  look  of  unutterable 
surprise,  that  he  w^ould  never  have  believed  it  — 
no,  never  —  had  anybody  else  told  him,  that  Bi^; 
Wilier  had  actually  run  away  from  a  bear!  Ho 
couldn't  bear  to  hear  of  it,  and  would  not  believe 
it  though  Waller  himself  said  it.  As  for  Bertram, 
having  filled  the  pages  of  his  sketch-book,  back 
and  front,  he  was  compelled  to  take  to  miniature 
drawing  in  corners  and  blank  bits,  and  in  this 
way  began  to  book  the  entire  region,  and  to  revel 
in  his  loved  art. 

Several  weeks  passed  away,  and  during  that 
time  of  peace  and  plenty,  our  trappers  had  it  all 
to  themselves.  They  caught  and  killed  numbers 
of  animals ;  stripped  ofi",  dried,  and  packed  quan- 
tities of  valuable  furs ;  ate  enormous  meals,  with 
the  gusto  of  men  who  had  laboriously  earned 
the  right  to  do  so,  and  related  stories  and  anec- 
dotes enough  to  fill  a  huge  volume.  In  short, 
they  enjoyed  themselves  beyond  conception,  and 
Bertram  agreed  with  March  Marston  in  thinking 
that  Bunyan's  land  of  Eeulah  could  not  have 
surpassed  that  delightful  region. 

But  one  day  there  came  a  small  cloud  on  their 
blue  sky  of  felicity.  An  event  occun'ed  which 
radely  dispelled  their  pleasant  dreams,  filled  their 
hearts  with  anxiety,  and  finally  broke  up  their 
camp  in  a  w^ay  that  led  to  disastrous,  though  not 
altogether  ruinous,  consequences. 


t!  i 


liVi 


I. 


f^ 


m 


>U:; 


■\'h. 


-*?•  '  f 


260 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THJl  WEST. 


1  CHAPTER    XV. 

Business  unpleasantly  Interrupted.  —  The  Mountain  Fort  in  Danp;er. 
—  Trappers  to  the  Rescue.  —  A  Rude  Meeting  .i'ith  Foes  in  the 
Dark.  —  A  Wild  Race.  —  March  meets  with  a  Severe  Misfortiuie. 

One  morning,  just  as  the  trappers  were  drop- 
ping into  camp  about  the  usual  breakfast  hour, 
laden  with  the  produce  of  the  trap  and  the  chase, 
they  were  startled  by  the  sudden  appearance  of  a 
large  band  of  mounted  Indians,  who  galloped  to 
the  top  of  a  neighboring  mound,  and,  crowding 
together,  stood  still  to  gaze  upon  the  invaders  of 
their  hunting-grounds,  for  such  they  deemed  the 
trappers,  no  doubt. 

To  snatch  up  their  arms  and  run  to  a  place  of 
safety,  was  the  work  of  a  moment.  It  must  not 
be  supposed  that  such  experienced  men  as  Red- 
hand  and  Bounce  were  altogether  unprepared  for  a 
surprise  of  this  sort.  On  the  day  of  Iheir  arrival 
at  the  hunting-ground,  their  first  care  had  bern 
to  select  such  a  place  for  their  camp  as  lay  in 
close  proximity  to  some  natural  strongliold.  Not 
ten  paces  from  the  camp-fire  there  was  a  sort  of 
hollow  in  the  ground,  on  the  very  summit  of  the 
mound  on  which  they  were  encamped.  Here  all 
their  valuables  had  been  placed,  and  round  the 


wos 
'em  f( 
an' 


PRECAUTIONS  OF  THE  TRAPPERS. 


261 


edge  of  the  hole  a  rude  breast-work  had  been 
raised,  so  that  the  party,  when  in  it,  could  fire 
through  Utile  openings  in  the  breast-work  with- 
out exposing  themselves  to  view. 

To  this  fortress  they  retired,  the  instant  the 
Indians  made  their  appearance.  Fortunately  all 
the  members  of  the  little  party  had  come  in. 

"  They're  holdin'  a  council  o'  war,"  said 
Boun^i-t;,  carefully  examining  the  priming  of  his 
piece.  "  It's  as  like  as  not  they'll  attack  us,  but 
they'll  git  a  hearty,  and  an  oncommonly  warm, 
welcoixiC." 

«  They'll  not  attack  us,"  said  Redhand.  «  They 
laiow  tl-at  white  men  never  travel  without  plenty 
\}i  powdor  and  ball,  and  they  don't  like  taking  a 
place  by  storm." 

"  Ay,"*  remarked  Waller,  sarcastically,  "  'cause 
they  knows  that  the  first  man  as  comes  on  is 
sartin  su  re  to  fall,  an'  they  knows  that  they  can't 
come  on  without  somebody  comin'  first. 

"  But  there's  brave  fellers  among  the  redskins," 
rejoined  Bounce,  "  I  knowed  a  set  o'  young 
fellers  a5  banded  thirseives  together,  and  swore 
they'd  go  through  fire  an'  water,  thick  an'  thin, 
but  they'd  niver  turn  back  from  the  face  o' 
danger  wherever  they  met  it.  So,  one  day  they 
wos  crossiif  a  river  on  the  ice,  and  the  first  on 
'ein  fell  in,  an'  wos  carried  away  by  the  current, 
an'  what  does  the  second  do,  but  he  walks 
straight  into  the  hole,  an'  wos  drowned  too,  an* 


'il^ 


f:l 


\  V'  ■ 


vtJ 


'  i 


:ii  I 


t;.  ■] 


263 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


li! 


i 


the  nixt  wos  goin'  to  foller,  when  the  c.ld  warriora 
ran  at  him  an'  forced  him  back.  If  they  hadn't 
stopped  him,  I  do  b'Heve " 

"  They're  makin'  up  their  minds  to  do  some- 
thin' or  other,"  interrupted  March. 

"  I  sincerely  hope  they  won't  fight,"  murmured 
Bertram,  earnestly.  "  It  is  fearful  to  think  of  the 
blood  that  is  slnd  by  these  men  needlessly." 

From  the  coviduct  of  the  Indians  it  became 
evident  that  on  this  occasion  they  sympathized 
with  the  artist  in  his  desire  not  to  fight,  for  one 
of  their  number  dismounted,  and,  advancing 
unarmed  toward  the  trappers,  made  signs  of 
friendship.  y^ 

"  It's  as  well  to  be  bold  an'  appeac  to  trust 
'em,"  said  Redhard,  laying  down  his  rifle  and 
leaping  over  the  breast-work,  "keep  yorr  ^.js 
ready,  lads,  an'  if  ye  see  treachery  let  drive  at 
once.  Don't  be  nf(;.Hi  o'  hittin'  me.  I'll  take 
my  chance." 

After  a  few  Uiinutt-'  conversation  with  the 
Indian,  Redhand  returned  to  his  party. 

*'  That  redskin,"  said  he,  '  ■  tells  me  they're  on 
an  expedition  to  hunt  the  buffalo  on  the  prairie, 
and  that  they're  good  friends  of  the  white  men, 
and  would  like  to  have  a  talk  with  us  before  they 
go  on;  bv.t  I  don't  believe 'em.  From  what  1 
heard  Mr.  McLeod  say  at  the  Mountain  Fort,  I 
th'u  k  it  not  unlikely  they  are  bound  on  an  expe- 
dition against  the  whites.    The  very  fact  of  their 


THE   OFFERED   FRIENDSHIP  DECLINED.        263 

W)  rill  in  to  keep  friends  with  us  instead  of  tryin' 
to  lift  our  scalps  and  caiTy  off  our  furs  and 
horses,  shows  me  that  they've  some  more  press- 
in'  business  on  hand.  Mr.  McLeod  described 
to  me  the  appearance  of  one  or  two  o'  the  In- 
juns that  hates  the  fur-traders  most,  so  that  I 
might  be  on  my  guard,  an'  I'm  quite  sure  of 
some  of  them  are  wilh  that  band.  Now,  what 
say  ye  ?  Shall  I  tell  'em  \  e  don't  want  ther 
acquaintance  ?  " 

"  Tell  'em  they're  a  set  o'  lyin'  thieves,"  s'd'A 
Big  Waller ;  "  I  guess  we'll  have  nothin'  to  say 
to  'em  wotiver." 

"  Oui,  et  give  to  dem  mine  complements," 
added  Gibaulf,  "  an'  say  we  ver'  mocli  'blige  by 
dere  goodness,  mais,  dey  vill  all  be  shooted  if  dey 
not  go  away  queek."  * 

Redhand  did  not  give  these  polite  messages  to 
the  Indian,  but  on  reluming  to  him  he  presented 
him  with  a  piece  of  tobacco,  and  advised  him  to 
continue  his  journey  without  loss  of  time,  as  the 
buffaloes  were  travelling  south  and  might  be  ou' 
of  the  way  when  they  reached  the  prairie. 

Whether  the  Indians  felt  angry  or  not  it  is 
impossible  to  say.  They  seemed  indifferent  lO 
their  cool  reception  by  the  trappers,  and  >n 
after  rode  off  at  full  sptod,  in  a  direction  that  led 
aivay  from  the  Mountain  Fort  —  a  circumstance 
which  still  further  confirmed  Redhand  in  hie 
suspicions. 


i 


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If 

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I  ' 


H 


264 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF   THE   WEST. 


After  an  eager,  hasty  consultation,  it  was  re- 
solved, that  they  should  follow  the  savages,  and 
if  their  trail  Was  found  to  diverge,  as  was  fully 
expected,  toward  the  fort,  that  they  should  en- 
deavor to  pass  them  in  the  night,  and  proceed 
by  forced  marches,  in  order  to  get  ^here  in  time 
to  warn  the  fur-traders  of  the  impending  danger. 

In  less  than  an  hour  after  the  Indians  left 
them,  the  trappers  were  galloping  after  them  in 
hot  haste.  During  the  course  of  the  day  they 
found  that  the  trail. doubled  back,  as  they  had 
anticipated,  so,  maldng  a  wide  detour,  thev 
headed  the  Indians,  and  during  the  afternoon  got 
a  little  in  advance  of  them  on  their  way  to  the 
Mountain  Fort.  . 

But  the  trappers  had  a  subtle  enemy  to  deal 
with.  Just  as  the  Indians  were  about  to  en- 
camp that  night  for  a  few  hours'  rest,  they 
chanced  to  divcr£?;e  a  short  way  from  the  direct 
line  of  march,  and,  in  doing  so,  crossed  the 
tracks  of  the  trappers.  A  halt  was  called,  and  a 
minute  inspection  of  the  tracks  made.  One  of 
the  savages  galloped  back  on  them  a  consider- 
able distance,  and  soon  returned  with  the  infor- 
mation that  they  led  toward  the  camp  of  the 
pale-faces.  From  the  appearance  of  the  hoof- 
prints  they  knew  that  they  were  frf\sh,  and,  thus, 
at  once  guessed  that  their  true  inlentions  had 
been  suspected,  and  might  yet  be  frustrated  by 
the   trappers.     Instead  of  encamping,  therefore, 


'.-mm'  '- 


A  PELL-MELL  RACE  TO  THE  FORT. 


265 


they  pushed  on  at  fall  spedfl  and  very  soon  came 
up  with  the  white  men.  It  was  a  dark  night, 
so  that  they  could  not  see  far  in  advance  of 
them,  and  thus  it  iiappened  that  the  two  parties, 
on  entering  a  narrow  defile,  almost  rode  into 
each  other,  with  a  yell  of  fierce  surprise  on  both 
sides. 

As  there  were  at  least  fifty  Indians,  Redhand 
thought  it  better  to  avoid  a  doubtful  combat  by 
scattering  his  men  through  the  woods,  and  let- 
ting each  make  the  best  of  his  way  to  the  fort 
singly. 

"  Run,  boys !  scatter !  to  the  fort !  "  .     < 

This  was  ail  that  was  deemed  needful  in  the 
way  of  command  or  explanation.  FJ: i/ig  a 
single  volley  at  the  enemy,  they  turned  and  fled, 

"FoUer  me,"'  shouted  Waller  to  the  bewildered 
Bertram,  as  a  shower  of  arrows  whistled  past 
their  ears.  The  artist  obeyed  mechanically,  and 
in  another  moment  they  were  flying  through  the 
wood  at  a  pace  that  seemed,  and  actually  was, 
reckless  under  the  circumstances.  But  the  Indi- 
ans did  not  attempt  to  pursue.  They  knew 
that  their  intention  had  been  discovered,  and 
that  their  only  chance  of  success  now  lay  in  out- 
riding the  pale-face'S.  The  ride,  in  fact,  became 
a  long  race ;  neither  party  making  the  slightest 
attempt  to  hunt  up  the  other,  but  each  straining 
every  nerve  and  muscle  to  get  first  to  the  doomed 
fori 

23 


h 


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•  V    ! 


I- 


i  ■  » 


■ 


. 


.1     i 


266 


THE   WILD   MAN  OF  THE   WEST. 


I 


The  scattered  trappers  rode  for  a  ong  time 
singly,  but  as  they  neared  the  fort,  one  or  two  of 
them  met,  and  when  they  lirst  came  in  sight  of 
the  tall  flagstaff,  Bounce,  Redhand,  and  Gibault, 
rode  abreast. 

McLeod  was  standing  in  front  of  the  fort 
when  the  three  horsemen  came  dashing  over  the 
[)lain.  He  hastily  summoned  the  men  and  closed 
the  gate,  but  as  Ihe  foremost  rider  came  near,  he 
was  recognized ;  the  gate  was  thrown  open,  and 
they  galloped  into  the  square.  In  a  few  hasty 
words  their  errand  was  explained.  Arms  and 
ammunition  were  served  out,  and  six  men  were 
stationed  at  the  gate  to  be  in  readiness  to  open  it 
to  approaching  friends,  or  to  shut  it  in  the  faco 
of  foes. 

But  the  others  of  the  party  were  not  so  fortu- 
nate as  these  three.  The  Indians  reached  the 
1  jrt  before  they  did,  and  one  of  their  number 
was  left,  unknown  to  them,  in  a  state  of  insensi- 
bility near  the  spot  where  the  first  rencontre  hud 
taken  place. 

When  the  Indians  and  trappers  met  in  the 
narrow  defile,  as  before  related,  one  of  the 
arrows,  which  had  been  dischaiged  very  much  at 
random,  entered  the  shoulder  of  March  Marstou's 
hort^e  and  wounded  it  mortally.  At  first  IMarcli 
thought  the  wound  was  slight,  and,  hearing  the 
shouts  of  some  of  the  savages  not  far  behind 
him,  he  urged  his  horse  forward  as  rapidly  as  the 


MARCH    ALONE  IN  THE   FOREST. 


267 


nature  of  the  ground  would  admit  of.  Before 
he  had  gone  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  however,  the 
poor  steed  fell,  throwing  March  over  its  head. 
In  his  flight  the  youth's  forehead  came  into  vio- 
lent contact  with  a  branch,  and  he  fell  to  the 
ground  insensible. 

His  comrades,  ignorant  of  his  fate,  continued 
their  wild  flight.  Thus,  our  hero  was  forsaken, 
ajul  left  bruised  and  bleeding  in  the  dark  forest. 


I 


I  k. 


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I: 


i: 


268 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

March  gets  a  Siirpriyt';  more  than  that,  he  gets  a  Variety  of  Sur- 
prises.—  jMeets  with  a  Strange  Hunter.  —  Goes  in  a  Strange 
l-'asiiion  to  a  Strange  Cavern  and  beiiolds  Strange  Sights.  —  lie- 
sides  other  Mutters  of  Interest. 


On  recovering  consciousness,  March  discovcrod 
that  it  was  broad  day-light,  —  from  which  he 
argued  in  a  confused  sort  of  way  that  he  must 
have  lain  there  all  night.  He  also  discovircd 
that  his  head,  which  ached  violenlly,  rested  on 
the  knee  of  some  unknown  individual,  who 
bathed  his  temples  with  cold  water.  Looking 
up  he  encountered  the  gaze  of  a  pair  of  soft 
blue  eyes. 

Now  there  is  something  exceedingly  captivat- 
ing in  a  pair  of  soft  blue  eyes  —  not  that  there 
may  not  be  something  quite  as  captivating  in  a 
pair  of  brown,  or  black,  or  gray  eyes  —  but  there 
is  sometliiiig  singularly  captivating  in  the  pecu- 
liar style  of  captivation  wherewith  a  man  is  capti- 
vated by  a  pair  of  blue,  —  distinctly  hlue^  —  eyes. 
Perhaps  it  is  that  their  resemblance  to  the  ceru- 
lean dep'ihs  of  the  bright  sky,  and  the  blue  pro- 
fundities of  the  ocean,  invests  them  with  a 
suggestive  'ufluence  that  is  agreeable  tt>  ihe  ro- 


MARCH  MEETS   A   KIND   rillEND. 


269 


mnntic  and  idealizing  tendencies  of  hnmnn  na- 
ture; or  that  the  color  is  (or  oiic^lit  to  be,  if  it 
is  not),  emblematic  of  purity.  We  tlirow  out 
this  suggestion  solely  for  the  benefit  of  unim pas- 
sioned })hilosophers.  Those  whose  hearts  are 
ah'tady  under  the  pleasant  thraldom  of  black  or 
hrown  eyes  are  incapable  of  forming  an  opinion 
on  the  abstract  question. 

Well,  March  observed,  further,  that  below  those 
soft  blue  eyes,  there  was  a  handsome  Roman 
nose,  and  immediately  below  that  a  moustache, 
and  a  thiel\  short  beard  of  curly  light-brown  hair. 
A  slight  —  vey  slight,  feeling  of  regret  mingled 
witli  the  astonishment  with  which  March  passed 
from  tlie  contemplation  of  the  soft  blue  eyes  to 
the  bushy  beard.  He  also  noted  that  the  stranger 
wore  a  little  leathern  cap,  and  that  a  profusion 
of  rich  brown  hair  descended  from  his  head  to  his 
shoiildcTS. 

"  Ye're  better,  lad,"  said  the  owner  of  the  blue 
eyes  in  that  deep  musical  bass  voice,  which  one 
meets  with  but  rarely,  and  which  resembles 
strongly,  at  times,  the  low  pipes  of  a  cathedral 


organ. 


5> 


"  Thank  ee,  yes,  Fm  — 

"  There,  don't  move  yet  awhile.  You're  badly 
bruised,  lad.  I'll  go  fetch  ye  another  drop  o* 
water." 

The  owner  of  the  blue  eyes  rose  as  he  spoke, 

laid   March's   head   softly  on   the   ground,  and 

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270 


THE   WILD   MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


walked  toward  a  neighboring  brook.  In  doing 
so  he  displayed  to  the  wondering  gaze  of  March 
the  proportions  of  a  truly  splendid  looking  miin. 
He  was  considerably  above  six  feet  in  height,  but 
it  was  not  that  so  much  as  the  herculean  build  of 
'lis  chest  and  shoulders  that  struck  March  with 
surprise.  His  costume  was  the  ordinary  leather 
hunting  shirt  and  leggings  of  a  backwoodsman, 
and,  although  deeply  bronzed,  his  color  not  less 
than  his  blue  eyes  and  brown  hair  told  that  he 
was  not  an  Indian. 

As  he  returned,  carrying  a  little  birch-bark  dish 
full  of  water  in  his  hand,  March  observed  that 
the  lines  of  his  forehead  indicated  a  mingled 
feeling  of  anger  and  sadness,  and  that  his  heavy 
brows  frowned  somewhat.  He  also  noted  more 
clearly  now  the  man's  towering  height,  and  the 
enormous  breadth  of  his  chest.  As  he  lay  there 
on  his  back  with  his  head  pillowed  on  a  tuft  of 
moss,  he  said  inwardly  to  himself,  "  I  never  saw 
such  a  fellow  as  that  before  in  all  my  life !  ' 

And  little  wonder  that  March  Marston  thought 
thus,  for,  as  no  doubt  the  reader  has  already 
guessed,  the  far-famed  Wild  Man  of  the  West 
himself  stood  before  him !  ' 

But  he  did  not  know  him.  On  the  only  occa- 
sion on  which  he  had  had  an  opportunity  of  be- 
holding this  renowned  man,  March  had  been  ren- 
dered insensible  just  as  he  came  on  the  field,  and 
the  ex  iggerated  descriptions  he  had  heard  of  him 


MARCH  AND  THE  WILD  MAIT. 


271 


ioing 
/[arch 
m.in. 
it,  but 
lid  of 
1  with 
eather 
Isman, 
ot  less 
ihat  he 

jk  dish 
ed  that 
ningled 
3  heavy 
;d  more 
and  the 
ly  there 
tuft  of 


seemed  quite  irreconcilable  with  the  soft  blue  eye 
and  genlle  manner  of  the  hunter  who  had  come 
thus  opportunely  to  his  aid.     For  one  moment, 
indeed,  the  idea  did  occur  to  March   that   this 
was  the  Wild  Man.    It  was  natural  that,  having 
bad  his  thoughts  for  so  long  a  period  filled  with 
conjectures  in  reference  to  this  wonderful  creature, 
he  should  suppose  the  first  tall,  mysterious  man 
he  met  must  be  he.    But  he  dismissed  the  notion 
as  untenable   and   absurd   on  second  thoughts. 
That  the  blue-eyed,  calm,  dignified  hunter  who 
kneeled  by  his  side  and  held  the  refreshing  water 
to  his  lips  as  if  he  were  a  trained  sick-nurse, 
should  be  the  Wild  Man,  the  man  reported  to  be 
forty  feet  high,  covered  with  hair,  and  exceeding 
fierce  besides  ugly,  was  out  of  the  ques'  on.    And 
wiien  March  shut  his  eyes  in  the  full  enjoyment 
of  the  cool  draught,  of  which,  poor  fellow,  he 
stood  much   in  need,  and  heard  the  supposed 
wild  man  give  vent  to  a  sigh,  which  caused  him 
to  look  up  in  surprise,  so  that  he  observed  the 
mild  blue  eyes  gazing  sadly  in  his  face,  and  the 
large  head  to  which  they  belonged  shaking  from 
side  to  side  mournfully,  he  almost  laughed  at  him- 
self for  even  .momentarily  entertaining  such  an 
absurd  idea. 

March  Marston  had  much  to  learn  —  we  mean 
in  ihe  way  of  reading  human  character  and  in 
judging  from  appearances.  He  had  not  yet  ob- 
served in  the  course  of  his  short  life,  that  if  a 


•  -i 


272 


THE  WILD   MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


blue  eye  is  capable  of  expressing  soft  pity,  it  U 
also  preeminently  capable  of  indicating  tiger 
like  ferocity.  He  did  not  consider  tliat  the  gen- 
tlest  natures  are,  when  roused  to  fury,  the  most 
terrible  in  their  outward  aspect.  He  did  not 
reflect  that  if  this  giant  (for  he  almost  deserved 
thus  to  be  styled),  instead  of  being  engaged  in 
an  office  of  kindness,  that  naturally  induced  gen- 
tleness of  action,  and  that  called  for  no  other 
feelings  than  those  of  tenderness  and  pity,  were 
placed  on  a  war-horse,  armed  with  sword  and 
shield,  and  roused  to  fury  by  some  such  sight  as 
that  of  a  large  band  of  savage  Indians  attacking 
a  small  and  iimocent  group  of  white  trappers,  he 
might  then  amply  fulfil  all  the  conditions  that 
would  entitle  him  to  the  wildest  possible  name 
that  could  be  invented. 

The  prominent  ideas  in  March's  mind  at  that 
time  were,  a  pair  of  blue  eyes  and  a  large,  gentle 
hand ;  so  he  quietly  and  finally  dismissed  the 
Wild  Man  from  his  thoughts. 

Lucidly,  the  Wild  Man  did  not  treat  March  in 
a  similar  manner.  After  allowing  him  to  rest 
quietly  for  a  few  minutes,  he  said  — 

"  Now,  lad,  I  think  ye're  improvin\  Ye'ie 
badly  battered  about  the  head  and  shoulders,  so 
I'll  take  ye  home  with  me." 

"  Home  with  you  ?  "  repeated  March. 

"  Ay,  put  yer  arms  round  my  neck,"  returned 
the  Wild  Man  in  a  tone  which,  though  soft  and 
low,  it  was  not  possible  to  disobey. 


THE  JOURNEY  TO  THE  HUNTEH'S  HOME.   273 

March  performed  this  somewhat  endearing  ac- 
tion in  silent  surprise,  whereupon  the  Wild  Man 
introduced  his  left  arm  below  the  poor  youth's 
back,  and  with  his  right  grasped  him  round  the 
legs,  and  thus  lifted  him  from  the  ground  and 
carried  him  away. 

March  experienced  a  sensation  as  if  all  hia 
larger  joints  were  being  dislocated,  and  felt  dis- 
posed to  cry  out,  but  restrained  himself  with  a 
powerful  effort.  Presently  his  bearer  stopped, 
and,  looking  round,  March  observed  that  he  was 
standing  by  the  side  of  a  horse, 

"  Hold  on,  lad,  till  I  mount." 

"  You'd  better  let  me  down  till  you  get  up," 
suggested  March. 

"  No,"  replied  this  singularly  laconic  indi- 
vidual. 

Standing  as  he  was,  the  Wild  Man  managed 
by  raising  March  a  little  to  lay  his  left  hand  on 
the  pommel  of  his  saddle  ;  next  moment  his  foot 
was  in  the  stirrup,  the  moment  after  he  himself 
was  in  the  saddle,  and  a  touch  of  his  heel  sent 
his  horse  cantering  away  toward  the  mountains. 

Had  March  Marston  seen  his  deliverer  at  tha 
time,  with  his  long  hair  waving  freely  in  the 
breeze,  in  emulation  of  the  voluminous  mane  and 
tail  of  his  splendid  horse,  his  thoughts  regarding 
the  Wild  Man  of  the  West  would  have  certainly 
returned  more  powerfully  than  over.  But  March 
divi  not  see  him,  his  eyes  being  shut,  his  lipa 


n 


■1 


874 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


pursed,  and  his'  teeth  set  in  an  heroic  attempt  tc 
endure  the  agonies  to  which  he  was  subjected 
by  the  motion  of  the  horse. 

In  half  an  hour  they  reached  a  rocky  defile 
that  led  up  into  one  of  those  wild,  gloomy  glens 
that  are  so  characteristic  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains. Here  the  Wild  Man  had  to  check  his 
pace  and  proceed  at  a  wali\,  thereby  afibrding 
much  relief  to  his  wounded  companion. 

"  Art  sore  i'  the  bones,  lad  ? "  inquired  the 
stout  horseman,  looking  down  at  his  charge  as 
if  he  were  a  small  infant  in  arms. 

"  Rather,"  replied  March.  "  Don't  you  think 
it  would  be  better  for  me  to  ride  behind  you  ?  I 
think  I  could  manage  to  hold  on." 

"  No,  you  couldn't."  v 

"  I  fear  I  must  be  a  terrible  weight  carried  in 
this  fashion,"  urged  March. 

"  Weight ! "  echoed  the  hunter,  with  a  quiet 
chuckle,  but,  as  he  did  not  vouchsafe  any  farther 
reply,  March  was  left  to  interpret  the  expression 
as  he  thought  fit. 

"  I  hope  no  bones  are  broken  ?  "  inquired  March 
in  a  tone  of  anxiety, 

"  Hope  not,"  replied  his  captor. 

We  use  the  word  "captor"  advisedly,  for  March 
was  so  utterly  unable  at  that  time,  physically  as 
well  as  morally,  to  resist  the  will  of  this  strange 
hunter,  that  he  felt  much  more  like  a  captive  in 
the  gripe  of  a  mighty  jailer  than  an  invalid  in 
the  arms  of  his  nurse. 


THE  JOURNEY  TO   THE   HUNTER'S  HOME,      275 


"  I  fear  there  are,"  said  March,  as  a  rude 
motion  of  the  horse  caused  him  excruciating 
agony. 

"Very  likely,"  replied  the  other  —  not  by  any 
means  in  a  careless,  indifferent  way,  but  with 
I  he  air  and  tone  of  a  straightforward  man  giv 
ing  his  opinion  in  reference  to  a  matter  of  fact. 
"  But,"  he  added  in  a  consolatory  tone,  "  I'll  see 
when  we  get  home." 

"  Home  !  "  repeated  March ;  "  Why,  where  is 
your  home  ?  " 

"  In  the  mountains  here.     We're  about  there 


?> 


now. 

As  he  spoke,  the  hunter  turned  his  horse  sharp 
to  the  left  and  qfitered  a  still  more  narrow  and 
gloomy  defile  than  the  one  they  had  just  been 
ascending.  So  narrow  was  it  and  overshadow'ed 
by  high  precipitous  cliffs  that  the  light  of  day 
had  to  struggle  for  entrance  even  at  noontide. 
At  night  it  was  dark  as  Erebus.  The  horse  had 
considerable  difficulty  in  advancing.  Indeed  no 
horse  that  had  not  been  trained  to  pick  his  steps 
among  the  confused  masses  of  rock  and  debris 
that  formed  the  bottom  of  that  ravine  or  chasm, 
could  have  ascended  it  at  all.  But  the  fine  ani- 
m;il  which  bore  March  and  the  Wild  Man  of  the 
W(  st  seemed  to  act  more  like  a  human  being 
than  a  horse  in  winding  out  and  in  among  the 
iiitvicaeies  of  tho  place. 

At  Knigth  they  reached  the  upper  end  of  the 


276 


THE  WILD  MAN  OP  THE  WEST. 


gorge.  Here  the  cliffs,  which  rose  perpendicu- 
'arly  to  a  height  of  three  or  four  hundred  feet, 
di'ew  so  near  to  each  other  that  at  one  place  they 
were  not  more  than  three  yards  asunder.  Just 
beyond  this  point  they  receded  again  and  ter- 
minated abruptly  in  a  sort  of  circle  or  amphi- 
theatre, the  floor  of  which  could  not  have  been 
more  than  thirty  yards  in  diameter,  and  was 
covered  with  small  gravel ;  the  sides  were  quite 
perpendicular,  and  rose  so  high  that  on  looking 
up  one  felt  as  if  one  had  got  into  the  bottom  of 
a  natural  funnel,  at  the  top  of  which  a  round  bit 
of  bright  blue  sky  sent  down  a  few  scanty  rays 
of  light. 

In  spite  of  the  pain  it  cost  him,  March  raised 
his  head  and  looked  round  as  they  rode  into  Ihis 
gloomy  cavernous  place.     Then,  glancing  at  the 


face  of  the   strange  being  who  carried 


him,  a 


feeling  of  superstitious  dread  took  possession  of 
his  heart  for  a  moment,  as  he  remembered  the 
many  conversations  he  and  Bounce  had  had 
about  evil  spirits  appearing  in  human  form,  and 
he  thought  that  perhaps  he  had  actually  fallen 
into  the  hands  of  one.  But  the  grave  quiet 
face,  and,  above  all,  the  soft  blue  eyes,  quickly 
put  to  flight  such  fears,  although  they  could  not 
altogether  dispel  the  solemn  awe  he  felt  at  being 
carried  so  suddenly  into  such  a  mysterious  place 
But  he  had  scarcely  recovered  some  degree  of 
sonfldence,  when  hi;  mind  was  again  thrown  into 


THE  HOME  OF  THE  HUNTER. 


277 


a  violent  state  of  agitation  by  the  fret  that  the 
horse,  tnrning  to  the  right,  began  deliberately  to 
ascend  Ihe  precipice,  which  was  as  perpendicular 
as  a  wall.  It  did  not  indeed  ascend  after  the  man- 
ih  r  of  a  fly  on  a  window,  but  it  went  up  on  what 
at)[)eared  to  be  a  narrow,  spiral  pathway.  In  a 
few  seconds  they  had  ascended  about  fifty  feet, 
and  March,  projecting  out  from  the  precipice  as 
he  did,  owing  to  his  position  in  the  rider's  left 
arm,  felt  a  hon-ible  sensation  of  giddiness  come 
over  him,  and  could  not  suppress  a  slight  groan. 

"  Don't  be  affeared,  lad,"  said  his  companion, 
"  I've  got  ye  tight,  an'  the  horse  is  used  to  it. 
The  track's  broader  than  ye  think,  only  ye  can't 
see  it  as  ye  lie  now." 

March  felt  reassured  ;  nevertheless,  he  shut  his 
eyes  very  tight  and  held  his  breath. 

Presently  he  felt  that  they  had  turned  sharp  to 
the  right,  so  he  ventured  to  open  his  eyes,  and 
found  that  they  were  standing  at  the  mouth  of 
what  appeared  to  be  a  cavern.  In  another  mo- 
ment they  were  under  its  dark  roof,  and  the  horse 
came  to  a  stand.  From  the  hasty  glance  he  gave 
it,  he  could  only  ascertain  that  the  interior  was 
bmied  in  proforaid  darkness. 

Without  causing  March  to  move  in  any  way, 
the  stout  horseman  dismounted.  In  fact,  the 
bmden  seemed  no  greater  to  him  than  a  child 
v;ould  be  to  an  ordinary  man. 

24 


27S 


THE   WILD  MAN   OF   THE   WE8T. 


"Here  we  are,  —  at  home,"  he  said.  "  Come, 
old  norse,  get  away  in." 

The  horse  obeyed,  and  disappeared  in  the 
darknpss  beyond. 

"  Now,  lad,  don't  be  afFeared,  I  know  every  fut 
o'  the  way.  Ye  can  shut  yer  eves  an'  ye  like  — 
but  there's  no  occasion." 

Saying  this,  he  advanced  with  a  steady  tread 
into  the  cave,  the  echoes  of  which  were  still 
ringing  with  the  clatter  of  the  horse's  hoofs  as  it 
passed  over  the  stone  floor.  It  could  not  have 
been  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  minute  when  thty 
reached  the  end  of  what  appeared  to  be  the 
outer  vestibule  of  this  cavern,  though  to  March 
it  seemed  to  be  more  Ihan  five  minutes ;  and 
now  that  he  could  no  longer  see  the  blue  eyes, 
all  manner  of  horrible  doubts  and  fears  assailed 
him.  He  felt  deeply  his  helpless  condition,  poor 
fellow.  Had  he  been  sound  in  wind  and  limb 
he  would  have  cared  little ;  for  a  brave  and  a 
strong  man  naturally  feels  that  he  can  fight  a 
stout  battle  for  life  in  all  or  any  circumstances. 
But  part  of  this  prop  (namely,  strength)  having 
been  removed  by  his  recent  accident,  he  felt  like 
a  miserable  child. 

Doubtless  it  is  good  for  strong  men  to  be 
brought  thus  low  sometimes,  just  to  prove  to 
them  what  they  are  by  nature  very  slow  to 
believe,  that  they,  quite  as  much  as  the  weak 


Mi    CH  IN  THE  HUNTER'S   CAVE. 


279 


and  helpless  ones  of  this  world,  are  dependent 
at  all  times  on  their  fellows. 

On  reaching  the  outer  end  of  the  outer  cave,  the 
hunter  turned  to  the  left,  stooped  down  in  order 
to  pass  below  a  small  natural  arch,  and  finally 
stood  in  the  middle  of  another  cavern,  on  the 
floor  of  which  he  deposited  his  burden  with  much 
tenderness  and  care. 

There  was  a  light  in  this  cave,  but  it  was  so 
di:ii  as  to  be  insufficient  to  illuminate  the  sur- 
rounding objects.  March  perceived,  on  looking 
up,  that  it  entered  through  a  small  aperture  in  the 
side  of  the  cavern  near  the  roof,  which  was  not 
more  than  twelve  feet  from  the  floor.  There  were 
several  pieces  of  charred  wood  on  one  side  of  the 
cave,  in  which  a  few  sparks  of  fire  still  lingered. 

Without  saying  a  word  the  owner  of  this 
strange  abode  went  toward  these,  and,  blowing 
them  into  a  flame,  heaped  large  logs  upon  them, 
so  that,  in  ten  minutes,  the  place  was  brilliantly 
illuminated  with  a  ruddy  blaze  that  did  one's 
heart  good  to  look  upon. 

By  the  light  of  the  fire  March  perceived  that  he 
had  been  deposited  on  a  couch  of  pine-branches. 
He  was  about  to  make  other  observations,  when 
his  captor  turned  to  him  and  said  — 

"  I'll  go  an'  see  to  the  horse,  an'll  be  back  in  a 
minute ;  so  keep  yer  mind  easy." 

"  And,  pray,  what  name  am  I  to  call  my  host 
by  ?  "  said  March,  unable  to  restrain  iiis  curiosity 
any  longer. 


W- 


■V-i 


'  • 


280 


THE   WILD  MAN  OP  THE  WEST. 


A  dark,  almost  fierce,  frown  covered  the  man's 
lace,  as  he  said  angrily,  *♦  Boy,  curiosity  is  a  bad 
thing — anywise,  it's  bad  here.  I've  brought  you 
to  this  cave,  'cause  you'd  ha'  died  i'  the  woods  if 
I  had'nt.  Don't  ask  questions  about  what  don't 
consarn  yo." 

"  Nay,  friend,  I  meant  no  offence,"  replied 
March.  "  I've  no  desire  to  pry  into  any  man's 
secrets.  Nevertheless,  it's  but  natural  to  want 
to  know  how  to  address  a  man  when  ye  converse 
with  him." 

"  True,  true,"  replied  the  other,  somewhat 
mollified.  "  Call  me  Dick,  it's  as  good  a  name 
as  any,  and  better  than  my  own." 

There  was  a  slight  tone  of  bitterness  in  the 
tone  in  which  this  was  said,  as  the  man  turned 
on  his.  heel  to  quit  the  cave. 

"  Stay,"  cried  March,  "  you  only  give  me  one 
name,  friend,  so  I'll  do  the  same  by  you.  My 
name's  March,  —  there,  you  may  march  about 
your  business." 

Dick  smiled,  and  said,  "  Well,  March,  I'll  be 
with  ye  again,  and  have  a  look  at  your  sore 
bones,  in  two  minutes." 

When  he  was  gone,  March,  for  the  first  time 
since  his  accident,  bethought  him  of  his  comrades. 
Since  recovering  from  the  state  of  insensibility 
into  which  his  fall  had  thrown  him,  his  mind 
had  been  so  absorbed  by  the  strange  events  that 
had  been  presented  to  him  in  such  rapid  succec- 


DICK  PRONOUNCES  MARCH   ALL  RKJIIT.        281 

gion,  u.  vv  11  as  with  the  pain  that  ranked  his  head 
and  limbs,  that  he  had  had  no  time  to  think 
about  them.  But,  now  that  he  was  left  in  that 
quiet  place  alone,  the  whole  cireumstances  of  the 
recent  pursuit  and  flight  ^uf^hed  suddenly  upon 
him,  and  his  mind  was  filled  with  anxious  fore- 
boding as  to  the  fate  of  his  comrades. 

"  Oh  I  I'm  glad  you've  come  back,"  he  cried, 
as  Dick  reoniered  the  cave ;  "  I  quite  forgot  my 
comrades -=■  shame  on  me!  but  my  miserable 
head  has  got  such  a  smash,  that  a'most  every 
thing's  been  drove  out  of  it." 

"  Time  enough  to  speak  o'  them  after  jve've 
seen  to  your  bones,"  said  Dick. 

"Nay,  but " 

"  Afier^'*  said  Dick,  in  a  tone  that  was  not  to 
be  gainsaid. 

March  submitted  with  a  sigh,  and  his  eccentric 
host  proceeded  to  manipulate  and  punch  him  in 
a  way  that  might,  perhaps,  have  been  highly 
necessary,  but  was  by  no  means  agreeable.  After 
a  few  minutes  he  pronounced  his  patient  all  right, 
only  a  little  bruised!  Having  said  which,  he 
proceeded  to  prepare  some  food,  and  said  to 
March  that  he  might  now  speak  about  his  com- 
rades. 

At  first  he  seemed  to  pay  little  attention  to  the 
youth's  hasty  narrative ;  but  on  hearing  that  the 
Indians  were  hastening  to  attack  the  Mountain 
Fort,  'le  sprang  up,  and  asked  a  few  questions 

24* 


■  I     .) 


^% 

■M 

t     ,'■ 

'if' 

i 

<i 

t  'III 

f     'Mr-    ! 

.  1 

.  / 

.     .    .  i 

||, 

\'i 

282 


THE  WILD   MAN   OF   THE   WEST. 


eagerly.     It  was  evident  that  the  news  troubled 
him  deeply.  ^^  . 

Taking  one  or  two  hasty  strides  up  and  down 
the  cavern,  and  paying  no  attention  to  the  roast- 
ing meat,  which  he  seemed  to  have  utterly  for- 
gotten, the  Wild  Man  of  the  West  muttered 
angrily  to  himself,  and  a  slight  dash  of  that  tiger- 
like flash,  which  had  gone  so  far  as  to  earn  him 
his  title,  lighted  up  his  blue  eye,  insomuch  that 
March  Marston  looked  at  him  in  amazement  not 
un mingled  with  awe.  Thoughts  of  the  Wild  Man 
of  the  West  once  more  occurred  to  him ;  but  iji 
his  former  cogitations  on  that  subject  he  had  so 
thoroughly  discarded  the  idea  of  this  kind  blue- 
eyed  hunter  being  that  far-famed  and  ferocious 
individual,  that  his  thoughts  only  toolv  the  form 
of  the  mental  question,  "  I  wonder  if  the  Wild 
Man  o'  the  West  could  beat  such  a  f(  How  as  that 
at  a  fair  stand-up  fighl ."  So  powerfully  did  this 
thought  aflect  him,  that  he  could  not  refrain  from 
exclaiming —  , 

"  I  say,  Dick,  did  you  ever  hear  of  the  Wild 
Man  of  the  West?"  ' 

Dick  was  so  much  tickled  by  the  question,  that 
his  angry  mood  vanished,  and,  turning  toward 
his  guest  with  a  smile,  while  his  blue  eye  seemed 
milder  than  ever  it  had  appeared  before,  he 
said, — 

*'  Yes,  lad,  I've  heard  of  him." 

**  Have  you  seen  him  ? "  continued  March 
eagerly. 


dick's  account  of  the  wild  man.      283 

"  I  have,  many  a  time." 

<*  What  is  he  like.-" 

"  He's  like  me,"  replied  Dick,  with  another 
smile,  the  softness  of  which  would  have  driven 
March  to  an  immeasurable  distance  from  the 
truth,  had  he  ever  been  near  it. 

"Like  you!  Oh,  I  suppose  you  mean  he's 
Something  about  your  size.  Well,  I  don't  wonder 
at  that,  for  you're  an  uncommonly  big  fellow, 
Dick ;  but  I  fancy  his  appearance  is  very  dif- 
ferent." 

"  Well,  no.  He's  got  light  hair  and  blue  eyes, 
like  me."  '  ' 

This  was  a  poser  to  March.  It  was  so  totally 
subversive  of  all  his  preconceived  ideas,  that  it 
reduced  him  for  some  moments  to  silence. 

"  Isn't  he  hairy  all  over,  like  a  fox,  and  very 
ugly  ? "  inquired  March,  recovering  from  his 
surprise,  -  » 

This  was  a  poser,  in  turn,  to  the  Wild  Man. 
To  be  called  upon  suddenly  to  pronounce  an 
oj)inion  on  his  own  looks  was  embarrassing,  to  say 
the  least  of  it. 

"  He's  not  exactly  hairy  all  over,"  said  Dick, 
after  a  moment's  thought,  "  though  it  can't  be 
denied  he's  got  plenty  of  hair  on  his  head  and 
chin  —  hke  me.  As  for  his  looiis,  lad,  it  ain't 
easy  to  say  whether  he's  ugly  or  pritty,  for  men 
don't  agree  on  sich  pints,  d'ye  see." 

"  Do  sit  down  beside  me,  Dick,  and  tell  me 


m 


i't. 


iv!*;: 


^JBm 

M/f 

>,^  I^w 

iw ' 

^R  ' 

;  .  !■■,. 

fi  u  '' 

■j;;; 

W\ 

:  ,pi 

i ' 

:  'f  ■': 

-i  ■  ■-. 

«i '' 

,    f 

n . 

'/  ; 

H  ; 

if 

284 


THE   WILD   MAN  OF  THE   WEST. 


about  this  Wild  Man,"  said  March,  earnestly. 
**  You  can't  fancy  how  anxious  I  am  to  see  him. 
I've  come  here  for  that  very  purpose.  No  doubt 
I've  come  to  shoot  and  trap,  too,  but  chiefly  to 
see  the  Wild  M;  i  o'  the  West.  An'  isn't  it  pro- 
vokin'  ?  I  might  have  seen  him  some  weeks 
agone,  if  I  hadn't  bin  stunned  with  a  fall  jist  as 
he  come  jumpin'  into  the  middle  o'  us  like  a  clap 


» 


o'  thunder 

"  What,  lad,"  interrupted   Dick,  '*  was  it  you 
that  I  ^ 


)> 


Just  at  this  moment  Dick  was  seized  with  a 
very  violent  fit  of  coughing,  which,  coming  as  it 
did  from  such  a  capacious  chest  and  so  pov^  eiiul 
a  pair  of  lungs,  caused  the  roof  of  the  cavern  to 
reverberate  with  what  might  have  been  mistaken, 
outside,  for  a  species  of  miniature  artillery. 

"You've  caught  cold,'*  suggested  March, -who 
gazed  in  unspeakable  admiration  at  the  magnifi- 
cent locks  and  beard  of  this  remarkable  man,  us 
they  shook  with  the  violence  of  his  exertion. 

"  I  never  had  a  cold,"  replied  Dick,  becoming 
quiet  again;  "there's  other  things  as  cause  a 
man  for  to  cough,  now  and  agin',  besides  colds." 

"  True,"  rejoined  March ;  "  but  you  were 
sayin'  somethin'  —  do  you  know  of  the  tight  ^ 
was  speakin'  of?" 

"  Know  of  it  —  ay,  that  do  I." 

"  Why,  how  did  you  happen  to  hear  of  it  ?  " 

"It's  wonderful,  lad,  how  I  comes  to  know 


DIC^  PUZZLES   MARCH. 


285 


about  things  in  this  part  o'  the  country.  I  know 
every  thing  the  Wild  Man  does.  He  can't  mo  >  e 
without  my  bein'  on  his  track  d'rectly.  In  fact. 
I  f oilers  him  like  his  shadow.  Leastw^ise,  his 
shadow  follers  me." 

"  Indeed,  exclaimed  March,  whose  interest 
ill  Dick  became  suddenly  tenfold  more  deep  on 
learning  this.  "But  why  do  you  follow  him  about 
in  this  fashion  ?  Does  he  like  your  company,  or  do 
you  only  follow  him  on  the  sly,  and  keep  out  of 
sight  ?    Explain  yourself,  Dick  —  you  puzzle  me." 

"I  can't  explain  just  now,  lad,"  said  Dick, 
rising  abruptly.  "You  forget  that  your  com- 
rades may  be  in  a  fix  before  now  wi'  them  black- 
guard redskins.  I  must  go  an'  help  them.  It's 
but  right  that  v/hite  men  should  lend  one  another 
a  helpin'  hand  in  these  regions,  where  the  Injuns 
have  it  almost  all  their  own  way." 

"  But  the  Mountain  Fort  is  far  away  from  this, 
an'  I'm  afraid  you'll  never  be  able  to  get  there  in 
time,"  said  March,  with  an  anxious  expression 
of  countenance. 

"  m  try,"  returned  Dick.  "  Anyhow,  I'll  send 
the  Wild  Man  o'  the  West  to  help  them,"  he 
added,  with  a  peculiar  smile.  "  Now,  boy,  listen, 
I  must  not  waste  more  time  in  idle  talk.  I  shall 
leave  you  here  under  the  charge  of  my  little 
girl " 

"  Your  little  girl ! "  echoed  March  in  surprise. 

"  Ay,  she  ought  to  have  been  in  before  now,'' 


1 


1  M 


M  '■] 


It 


il  ■*!'■ 


286 


THE  WILD  MAN  OP  THE  WEST. 


continued  Dick,  without  noticing  the  interruption. 
"  an'  I  would  like  to  ha'  told  her  who  ye  are,  and 
how  I  came  by  ye,  an'  what  to  do  till  I  come 
back.  But  I  can't  wait ;  lime's  precious  as  gold 
just  now ;  so  I'll  tell  ye  what  to  say  to  her  when 
she  — 


v 


At  that  moment  a  light  footstep  was  heard  in 
the  outer  cavern.  The  Wild  Man  sprang  up  on 
hearing  it,  and  strode  hastily  through  the  natural 
doorway,  leaving  March  to  listen,  in  a  state  of  the 
utmost  bewilderment,  to  a  silvery  musical  voice, 
which  held  rapid  converse  with  his  strange  host. 

Presently  Dick  returned,  followed  by  a  vision 
in  leather!  the  sight  of  which  struck  March 
Marston  dumb,  and  rendered  him  for  a  few 
moments  as  totally  incapable  of  moving  hand, 
tongue,  or  foot,  as  if  he  had  been  bewitched  — 
which,  in  a  sense,  he  was. 

"  This  is  the  little  girl  I  spoke  of  t'ye,"  said 
Dick,  looking  at  March,  and  patting  the  girl  on 
her  soft  cheek,  with  a  hand  that  might  have 
passed  for  a  small  shoulder  of  mutton.  "  She'll 
take  good  care  of  ye,  March.  I've  told  her  what 
to  do ;  but  she  don't  need  to  be  told.  Now,  see 
ye  don't  do  yerself  a  mischief,  lad,  till  I  come 
back.  It  won't  be  long —  a  day  or  two,  mayhap, 
more  or  less ;  but  ye'U  take  that  time  to  mend ; 
you're  worse  battered  than  ye  think  of —  so,  good 
day." 

While  the  Wild  Man  was  ejaculating  these  sen* 


DICK  GOES  TO  THE  MOUNTAIN  FORT. 


287 


tences  abruptly,  he  was  striding  about  the  cave 
with  what  may  be  styled  enormous  vigor,  picking 
up  and  buckling  on  his  weapons  of  war.  He 
seized  a  double-edged  sword  of  gigantic  propor- 
tions and  buckled  it  to  his  waist,  but  March  saw 
it  not.  He  pulled  on  the  scalp-fringed  coat  of 
a  Black  foot  chief,  w^ith  leggins  to  match,  but 
March  knew  it  not.  He  slung  a  powder-horn 
and  bullet-pouch  round  his  shoulders,  stuck  a 
knife  and  tomahawk  into  his  belt,  and  grasped  a 
long  rifle  which  stood  in  a  corner ;  and,  in  doing 
all  this,  he  made  such  a  tremendous  clatter,  and 
displayed  such  wonderful  activity,  and  grew  so 
much  fiercer  to  look  at  in  every  stage  of  the 
process,  that  March  would  certainly  have  recurred 
to  the  idea  of  the  Wild  Man,  had  he  been  in  his 
ordinary  state  of  mind ;  but  he  was  not  in  that 
happy  condition.  March  knew  nothing  about  it 
whatever ! 

Before  going,  Dick  stooped  and  kissed  the 
"vision"  on  the  cheek.  March  saw  that!  It 
recalled  him  for  a  moment  and  made  him  aware 
of  the  disappearance  of  his  host,  and  of  the  loud 
clattering  sounds  of  his  charger's  hoofs,  as  he  led 
him,  at  a  rapid  walk,  across  the  outer  cave. 
March  even  heard  the  general  clatter  of  all  his 
accoutrements,  as  he  vaulted  into  the  saddle  at 
one  bound,  and  went  down  that  terrible  rocky 
way  at  a  breakneck  gallop  that  would  have 
caused  him  (March),  in  other  circumstances,  to 


If  i\ 


a:: 


m 


288 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


shudder.  But  he  did  not  shudder.  He  was  but 
faintly  aware  of  these  things.  His  intellect  was 
overturned ;  his  whole  soul  was  captivated ;  his 
imagination,  his  pierceptions,  his  conceptions  — 
all  his  faculties  and  capacities  were  utterly  over- 
whelmed and  absorbed  by  that  wonderful  vision 
in  leather  I 


7^  ^ 


ON   VISIONS. 


289 


CHAPTER    XVII. 


The  Vision  in  Leather.    • 


It  is  all  very  well  for  men  of  the  world,  men 
of  fashion,  men  who  pride  themselves  on  being 
liighly  civilized  and  peculiarly  refined,  to  fancy 
that  there  are  no  other  visions  in  this  world  than 
"visions  in  silk,"  "visions  in  white,"  and  the 
like.  Those  who  think  thus  labor  under  an 
egregious,  though  a  civilized,  mistake. 

Happily  there  are  kind,  loving,  pretty  faces  in 
this  world,  the  possessors  of  which  know  nothing 
about  pink  gauze  or  white  muslin.  Faces  that 
have  never  felt  the  hot  air  of  a  drawing-room, 
but  are  much  used  to  present  themselves,  un- 
veiled, to  the  fresh  breezes  of  the  prairie  and  the 
mountain ;  faces  that  possess  the  rare  quality  of 
universal  attraction,  and  that  cause  men  to  fancy, 
when  they  see  them  for  the  first  time,  that  they 
have  beheld  a  vision ! 

The  fact  is  that  some  faces  are  visions,  whether 
the  forms  that  support  them  appear  to  us  in 
muslin  or  in  deer-skin.  The  only  requisite  need- 
ful to  constitute  a  face  a  vision  to  any  particular 
person,  is  that  it  should  have  in  it  that  peculiar 
something  which   everybody  wants,  but   which 

25 


29C 


THE  WILD   MAN   OF   THE  WEST. 


nobod}  can  define ;  which  is  ineffably  charming, 
though  utterly  incomprehensible ;  and  which, 
when  once  seen  by  any  one,  constitutes  the 
countenance  that  possesses  it  a  vision  evermore  I 

It  is  quite  immaterial  what  material  composes 
the  dress  in  which  the  vision  appears.  No  doubt, 
the  first  time*it  bursts  upon  the  smitten  victim, 
dress  may  be  a  powerful  auxiliary ;  but  after  the 
first  time,  dress  goes  for  little  or  nothing.  March 
Marston's  vision  appeared,  as  we  have  said,  in 
leather. 

After  the  Wild  Man  had  vanished,  March  con- 
tinued to  gaze  at  his  new  companion  with  all 
kinds  of  feelings  and  emotions,  but  without  being 
able  to  move  or  speak.  The  vision  returned  ilie 
compliment,  also  without  speaking  or  taking  any 
further  nolice  of  him. 

She  was  a  wonderful  creature,  that  vision  in 
leather !  That  she  was  of  Indian  extraction  was 
evident  from  the  hue  of  her  skin,  yet  she  was  not 
nearly  so  dark  as  the  lightest  complexioned  Iih 
dian.  In  fact  her  clear  soft  forehead  was  whiti  r 
than  those  of  many  so-called  pale-faces ;  but  her 
ruddy  cheeks,  her  light-brown  hair,  and,  above  all, 
her  bright  brown  eye  showed  that  white  blood  ran 
in  her  veins.  She  was  what  men  term  a  half-caste. 
She  was  young,  almost  girlish  in  her  figure  and 
deportment;  but  the  earnest  gravity  of  her  pretty 
face  caused  her  to  look  older  than  she  really 
was.    March,  unconsciously  and  without  an  effort, 


dick's  little  girl. 


291 


guessed  her  to  be  sixteen.  He  was  wrong.  She 
had  only  seen  fifteen  summers. 

Her  dress  was  a  beautifully-dressed  deer-skin 
gown,  reaching  below  the  knees,  as  soft  as  cha- 
mois leather,  and  ornamented  with  beads  and 
quill- work.  It  was  girded  round  her  small  waist 
by  a  leather  belt,  from  which  depended  a  small 
hunting-knife.  A  pair  of  ornamented  leggings 
of  the  same  mi  erial  as  the  gown  covered  her 
limbs,  and  moccasins  her  feet,  which  latter,  as 
well  as  her  hands,  were  small  and  beautifully 
formed.  Over  her  shoulders  were  slung  the 
masculine  appendages  of  a  powder-horn  and 
bullet-pouch,  proving  that  this  creature  was,  so 
to  speak,  a  Dianic  vision. 

Her  staring  so  hard  and  so  long  at  March 
without  speaking  or  smiling,  or  taking  any  more 
notice  of  him  than  if  he  had  been  an  effigy  on  a 
tombstone,  seemed  unaccountable  to  that  youth. 
Had  he  been  able  to  look  at  himself  from  her 
point  of  view,  he  would  not  have  been  so  much 
surprised. 

In  his  late  accident  he  had  received  so  severe  a 
blow  orf  the  left  eye  that  that  orb  was  altogether 
shut  up.  As  he  did  not  move,  and  as  the  other 
eye,  with  w^hich  he  gazed  in  supreme  astonish- 
ment at  the  sweet  face  before  him,  happened  to 
be  furthest  from  the  fire,  besides  being  hid  in  the 
shadow  of  his  own  nose,  —  which  was  not  a 
small  one  by  nature,  and  was  a  peculiarly  large 


'■■c: 


892 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


one  by  force  of  recent  circumstances, »— the  vision 
very  naturally  thought  that  he  was  fast  asleep. 
As  she  stood  there  gazing  wonderingly  and  some- 
what sadly  at  the  poor  youth,  with  the  red  flick- 
ering flame  of  the  fire  lighting  up  her  yellow 
garments,  deepening  the  red  on  her  round  cheeks, 
glinting  on  the  loose  masses  of  her  rich  tresses, 
and  sparkling  in  the  depths  of  her  bright  brown 
eyes,  March  thought  he  had  never  in  all  his  life 
before  beheld  such  an  exquisite  creature. 

Supposing  that  he  was  asleep,  the  vision  sat 
down  quietly  on  a  log  beside  the  fire,  still  keep- 
ing her  eyes,  however,  fixed  on  her  guest.  Tlie 
action  took  her  out  of  the  "  direct  line  of  fire " 
of  March's  sound  eye,  therefore  he  turned  his 
head  abruptly,  and  so  brought  his  staring  orb 
into  the  light  of  the  fire,  and  revealed  the  fact 
that  he  was  wide  awake ;  whereupon  the  vision 
uttexed  an  exclamation  of  surprise,  rose  hastily 
and  went  to  his  side. 

"  You  is  woke,"  she  said.  "  Me  tink  you  was 
be  sleep." 

"  Asleep ! "  cried  March  with  enthusiasm,  "  no, 
I  wasn't  asleep.  More  than  that,  I'll  never  go  to 
sleep  any  more."  , 

This  bold  assertion  naturally  filled  the  vision 
with  surprise.  • 

"  Why  for  not  ?  "  she  asked,  sitting  down  on  a 
log  beside  March  in  such  a  position  that  she 
could  see  him  easily. 


MARCH   AND    MARY. 


293 


<'  For  Ihinkin'  o'  you  !  "  replied  the  bold  youth, 
firmly. 

The  vision  looked  at  him  n  still  greater  aston- 
ishment, opening  her  eyes  slowly  until  they 
tjeemed  like  two  pellucid  lakelets  of  unfathom- 
able depth  into  which  March  felt  inclined  to 
fling  himself,  clothes  and  all,  and  be  drowned 
comfortably.  She  then  looked  at  the  fire,  tiien 
at  March  again.  It  was  evident  that  she  h;id 
not  been  accustomed  to  hold  intercourse  vvilh 
jocular  minds.  Perceiving  this,  March  at  once 
changed  his  tone,  and,  with  a  feeling  of  respect 
which  he  could  not  well  account  for,  said,  rather 
bluntly  — 

"  What's  your  name  ?  " 

"Mary." 

"  Ay !  did  your  father  give  you  that  name  ?  " 

"  My  father?"  echoed  the  girl,  looking  hastily 
up. 

"  Ay,  did  Dick  give  it  you  ?  " 

"Did  him  tell  you  him's  name  be  Dick?" 
asked  Mary. 

"  Oh !  he's  known  by  another  name  to  you. 
then,  it  would  seem.  But,  Mary,  what  is  nis 
name." 

The  girl  pursed  her  mouth  and  laid  her  fingei 
on  it.     Then,  with  a  little    ad  smile,  said  — 

"Him  tell  you  Dick  —  that  be  good  name. 
But  Dick  not  my  father.     My  father  dead." 

The  poor  thijig  said  this  so  slowly  and  in  such 

25* 


m 


11 


■r; 


m 


fll' 


■\ 


w 

I 


W 


! 


m 


[!-, 


I" 


i  '■' ' 


294 


THE  WILD  MAN  OP  THE   WEST. 


{\ 


a  low  pathetic  tone  that  March  felt  sorry  for 
having  unwittingly  touched  a  tender  chord.  He 
hastened  to  change  the  subject  by  saying  — 

"  Is  Dick  kind  to  you,  Mary  ?  " 

"  Kind,''  she  cried,  looking  up  with  a  flashing 
eye  and  flushed  face,  while  with  one  of  her  little 
hands  slie  tossed  back  her  luxuriant  tresses  — 
*'  Kind !  Him  be  my  father  now.  No  have  got 
nobodv  to  love  me  now  but  him." 

"  Yes,  you  have,  Mary,"  said  March,  stoutly. 

Mary  looked  at  him  in  surprise,  and  said, 
«  Who  ?  " 

"Me!"  replied  March. 

Mary  said  nothing  to  this.     It  was  quite  clear 

that  the  Wild  Man  must  have  neglected  her  edu- 

ation   sadly.      She   did    not  even   smile;    slie 

merely  shook  her  head  and  gazed  abstractedly  at 

the  embers  of  the  fire, 

"  Dick  is  not  your  father,  Mary,"  continued 
March,  energetically,  "but  he  has  become  your 
father.  I  am  not  your  brother,  but  I'll  become 
your  brother —  If  you'll  let  me." 

March  in  his  enthusiasm  tried  to  raise  him- 
self; consequently  he  fell  back  and  drowned 
Mary's  answer  in  a  groan  of  anguish.  But  he 
was  not  to  be  baulked. 

"  What  said  you  ?  "  he  inquired,  after  a  mo- 
ment's pause. 

"  Me  say  you  be  very  good." 

She  said  this  so  calmly  that  March  felt  severely 


MAIlCn  TRIES  TO   SLEEP. 


295 


disappointed.  In  the  h(M*jfht  of  his  cnthusiustn  he 
forjj^ot  Ihat  the  poor  girl  liad  as  yet  seen  nothing 
to  draw  out  her  feeUng.s  toward  him  as  his  had 
been  drawn  out  toward  her.  Slie  had  seen  no 
«  vision,"  except,  indeed,  the  vision  of  a  wretched 
dishevelled  youth,  of  an  abrupt  excitable  tempera- 
ment, with  one  side  of  his  countenance  scratched 
in  a  most  disreputable  manner,  and  the  other 
side  swelled  and  mottled  to  such  an  extent  that 
it  resembled  a  cheap  plum-pudding  with  the 
fruit  unequally  and  sparsely  distributed  over  its 
yellow  surface. 

March  was  mollified,  however,  when  the  girl 
suggested  that  his  pillow  seemed  uncomfortable, 
and  rose  to  adjust  it  with  tender  care.  Then  she 
said  —  "  Now  me  bring  blankit.  You  go  sleep. 
JNIe  sit  here  till  you  sleep,  after  that,  me  go  away. 
If  yt  wan'^s  me,  holler  out.     Me  sleep  in   nixt 


V 


room. 

So  saying,  this  wonderful  creature  flitted  across 
the  cavern  and  vanished,  thereby  revealing  to 
March  the  fact  that  there  was  a  third  cavern  in 
that  place.  Presently  she  returned  with  a  green 
blanket  and  spread  it  over  him,  after  which  she 
sat  down  by  the  fire  and  seemed  absorbed  in  her 
private  meditations  while  March  tried  to  sleep. 

But  what  a  night  March  had  of  it !  Whichever 
way  he  turned,  that  vision  was  ever  before  his 
eves.  When  he  awoke  with  a  start,  there  she 
was,  bending  over  the  fire.     When  he  dreamed, 


«,  >f  i . 


■  I 


296 


THE  WILD  MAuf  OP   THE  WEST. 


li 


:f 


there  she  was,  floating  in  an  atmosphere  of  blue 
Btars.  Sometimes  she  was  smiling  on  him,  some- 
times gazing  sadly,  but  never  otherwise  than 
sweetly.  Presently  he  saw  her  sitting  on  Dick's 
knee,  twisting  his  great  moustache  with  her  deli- 
cate hand,  and  he  was  about  to  ask  Dick  how  he 
had  managed  to  get  back  so  soon,  when  he  (tlie 
Wild  Man)  suddenly  changed  into  March's  own 
mother,  who  clasped  the  vision  fervently  lo  her 
breast  and  called  her  her  own  darling  son  I 
There  was  no  end  to  it.  She  never  left  him. 
Sometimes  she  appeared  in  curious  forms  and 
in  odd  aspects — though  always  pleasant  and 
sweet  to  look  upon.  Sometimes  she  was  dancing 
gracefully  like  an  embodied  zephyr  on  ihe  floor; 
frequently  walking  in  mid-air  ;  occasionally  per- 
ambulating the  ceiling  of  the  cave.  She  often 
changed  her  place,  but  she  never  \vl2nt  away. 
There  was  no  escape.  And  March  was  glad  of 
it.  He  did'nt  want  to  escape.  He  was  only  too 
happy  to  court  the  phantom.  But  it  did  noi 
require  courting.  It  hovered  over  him,  walked 
round  him,  sat  beside  him,  beckoned  to  him,  nnd 

smiled  at  him. Never, —  no,  never  since  the 

world  began  was  any  scratched  and  battered 
youth  so  thoroughly  badgered  and  bewitched,  as 
was  poor  March  Marston  on  that  memorable 
aight,  by  that  naughty  vision  in  leather. 


march's  waking  recollections. 


297 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

The  Cave  of  the  "Wild  Man  of  the  West.  —  March  and  Mary  hold 
Pleasant  Intercourse.  —  Dick's  Good  Qualitk'S  'jnlargcd  on,  —  The 
Wild  Man  gives  a  Redskin  a  Strange  L'sson.  — A  Startling  Inter- 
ruption to  Pleasant  Converse. 

When  March  Marston  awoke  the  following 
morning,  and  found  himself  lying  on  a  low  couch 
in  ^e  mysterious  cavern  of  the  Wild  Man  of  the 
West,  he  experienced  the  curious  sensation,  with 
which  every  one  is  more  or  less  familiar,  of  not 
knowing  where  he  was. 

The  vision  in  leather  which  had  worried  him 
to  such  an  extent  during  the  night,  had  left  him 
in  peace  —  as  most  visions  usually  do  —  an  hour 
or  so  before  day-break,  and  as  the  real  vision  had 
not  vet  issued  from  the  inner  chamber  of  the 
cave,  there  was  nothing  familiar  near  him,  when 
he  awoke  to  recall  his  scattered  senses,  Hs  first 
effort  to  rise,  however,  quickened  his  memory 
amazingly.  Pains  shot  through  all  his  limbs ; 
the  chase,  the  fall,  Dick,  the  cavern,  recurred  to 
him;  and  last  —  but  not  least,  for  it  obliterated 
and  swallowed  up  all  the  rest  —  the  vision  broke 
Upon  his  beclouded  brain  and  cleared  his  faculties. 

liooking  curiously  round  the   cavern,  he  ol> 


">'  -I  p 


,1'  ',■ 


Mm 

k  i: 


298 


THE   WILP   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


served  lor  Ihe  first  time  —  what  he  rfiight  have 
observed  ihe  night  before  had  he  not  been  pre- 
occupied with  sudden,  numerous,  and  powerful 
surprises  —  that  the  walls  were  hung  with  arms 
and  trophies  of  the  chase.  Just  opposite  to  liiin 
hung  ihe  skin  of  an  enormous  grisly  bear,  with 
the  head  and  skull  entire,  and  the  mouth  and 


teeth  grinning  at  him  in  an  awful  manner. 


Near 


to  this  were  the  skin  and  horns  of  several  buf- 
faloes. In  other  places  there  were  more  horns, 
and  heads,  and  hides  of  bears  of  various  kinds, 
as  well  as  of  deer,  and,  conspicuous  above  the 
entrance,  hung  the  ungainly  skull  and  ponderous 
horns  of  an  elk. 

Mingled  with  these,  and  arranged  in  such  a 
manner  as  1o  prove  that  Dick,  or  the  vision  —  one 
or  other,  or  both  —  were  by  no  means  destitute  ot 
taste,  hung  various  spears,  and  bows,  and  quivers, 
and  shields  of  Indian  manufacture,  with  spenrs 
and  bows  whose  form  seemed  to  indicate  that 
Dick  himself  was  their  fabricator.  There  was 
much  of  tasteful  ornament  on  the  sheaths  and 
handles  of  many  of  these  weapons. 

The  floor  of  the  apartment  in  which  he  lay  was 
of  solid  rock,  cleanly  washed  and  swept,  but  there 
was  no  furniture  of  any  kind  —  only  a  pile  of 
fresh-cut  pine-branches,  with  which  the  plate 
wa3  perfumed,  and  two  or  three  rough  logs  w  hich 
had  been  used  as  seats  the  night  before  by  the 
host  and  hostess  of  this  —  to  March  —  enchanted 
<3astle. 


MARCH  MARSTON  IN   THE   CAVE. 


299 


March  was  staring  earnestly  at  one  of  these 
logs  which  lay  close  to  the  ashes  of  the  fire,  try- 
ing to  recall  the  form  that  had  last  occupied  it, 
when  a  rustle  at  the  inner  passage  attracted  his 
attention,  and  next  moment  the  vision  again 
ptood  before  him.  It  was,  if  possible,  more  in- 
nocent, and  young,  and  sweet,  than  on  the  previ- 
ous night. 

"  Good  mornin'.  You  very  good  sleep,  me 
hope?" 

"  Ay,  that  had  I,  a  capital  sleep,"  cried  March, 
heartily,  holding  out  his  hand  which  the  vision 
grasped  unhesitatingly,  and  shook   with  manly 


visror. 


"  Bees  you  ho n  gray  ?  " 

"  No,  not  a  bit,"  said  March. 

The  girl  looked  sad  at  this,  "  You  muss  heat," 
she  said,  quickly,  at  the  same  time  raking  to- 
gether the  embers  of  the  fire,  and  blowing  them 
up  into  a  flame,  over  which  she  placed  a  large 
iron  pot ;  "  Dick  hims  always  heat  well  an'  keep 
well.  Once  me  was  be  sick.  Dick  him  say  to 
me,  '  Heat.'  Me  say,  '  No  want  heat.'  Hims 
sfiy, '  You  muss  heat.'  So  me  try ;  an',  sure  'nuff, 
get  well  to-morrow." 

March  laughed  at  this  prompt  and  effectual 
remedy  for  disease,  and  said,  "  Well,  TU  try. 
Perhnps  it  will  cure  me,  especially  if  you   feed 


me. 


?j 


Poor  March  saw,  by  the  simplicity  of  his  com- 


•!;*i 


,r  I 


'iJ: 


rt,. 


f:i  I 


300 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF   THE   WEST. 


panioii's  looks,  that  gallantry  and  complimeiita 
were  aliUe  thrown  away  on  her ;  so  he  resolved 
to  try  them  no  more.  Having  come  to  this  con- 
clusion, he  said, — 

"  I  sny,  Mary,  come  and  sit  by  me  while  I  talk 
wilh  yon.  I  want  to  know  how  you  came  to  be 
in  this  wild,  out-o'-the-way  place,  and  who  Dick 
is,  and  what  brought  him  here,  an',  in  short,  all 
about  it." 

The  girl  drew  her  log  near  as  he  desired,  but 
said,  —  "  What  Dick  no  tell,  me  no  tell." 

"  But,  surely,"  urged  March,  in  a  somewhat 
testy  tone, "  you  may  tell  me  something  about  ye.*' 

Mary  shook  her  head. 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"Dicksay  — 'No  tell.'" 

"Oh  I  Dick's  an  ass  !  " 

Had  Mary  known  the  meaning  of  her  com- 
panion's rude  speech,  she  might  possibly  have 
surprised  him  with  a  decided  opinion  in  regard  to 
himself.  But,  never  having  heard  of  nor  seen 
such  a  creature  in  all  her  life,  she  only  looked  up 
with  a  quiet  expression  of  curiosity,  and  said,  — 

"  What  bees  an  ass  ?  " 

"  Ha !  ha !  —  ho !  ho !  a "  roared  our  hero, 

with  a  mingled  feeling  of  exasperation  and  savage 
glee  —  "an  ass?  Why,  it's  a  lovely  slender  crea- 
ture, with  short  pretty  ears  and  taper  limbs,  and 
a  sleek,  glossy  coat,  like  —  like  me^  Mary,  dear; 
A^hy,  I'm  an  ass  myself.     Pray,  do  get  me  some- 


MARCH  MARSTON  AND  MARY. 


301 


limeiita 
c  solved 
liis  con- 

ie  I  tall; 
le  to  be 
:io  Dick 
;hort,  all 

ired,  but 

I 

imewhat 
)Out  ye;' 


her  com- 
ply have 
regard  to 
nor  seiMi 
3oked  up 
I  said, — 


rliin'  to  eat.    I  really  believe  my  appetite's  comiii' 
back  agin." 

INIary  looked  at  March  in  much  concern.  She 
had  once  nursed  the  Wild  Man  through  a  severe 
illness,  and  knew  what  delirium  was,  and  she 
b(>gan  to  suspect  that  her  guest  was  beginning  to 
give  way. 

"  Now,  lie  dowm,"  she  said,  with  an  air  of 
decision  that  was  almost  ludicrous  in  one  so 
yonthful.  Yet  March  felt  that  he  must  obey. 
"  Me  W'ill  git  meat  ready.     You  sleep  iittil  bit." 

March  shut  his  eyes  at  once ;  but,  the  instant 
that  Mary  turned  to  attend  to  the  iron  kettle,  he 
opened  Ihem,  and  conlinued  to  gaze  at  the  busy 
little  housewife,  until  she  chanced  to  look  in  his 
direction,  when  he  shut  them  again  quickly,  and 
very  tight.  This  was  done  twice  ;  but  the  Ihird 
time  Mary  caught  him  in  the  act,  and  broke  into 
a  merry  laugh.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had 
laughed  aloud  since  March  met  her ;  so  he 
laughed  too,  out  of  sheer  delight  and  sympathy. 

When  March  had  finished  breakfast,  he  tried 
to  get  up,  and  found,  to  his  great  relief  and  satis- 
faction, that  no  bones  were  broken  —  a  fact  of 
which  he  had  slood  in  considerable  doubt — and 
that  his  muscles  \vere  less  acutely  pained  than 
they  had  been.  Still,  he  was  very  stiff,  and  quite 
unalle,  wdth  any  degree  of  comfort,  to  walk  across 
the  cave;  so  he  made  up  his  mind  to  lie  there  till 
he  got  well,  —  a  resolution  which,  in  the  pride  of 

26 


f 


ifi- 


t!  I 


!  ; 


802 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


his  heart,  he  deemed  exceedingly  virtuoua  and 
praiseworthy,  forgetting,  either  deliberately  or 
stupidly,  that  the  presence  of  Mary  rendered  that 
otherwise  dull  cavern  the  most  delightful  of  sick 
chambers,  and  that  her  attendance  was  ample 
compensation  and  reward  for  any  amount  of  pain 
or  self-denial. 

"  Mary,"  he  said,  when  she  had  cleared  away 
the  dtbris  of  the  morning  meal,  " sit  down  here, 
and  tell  me  a  few  things.  You're  so  terribly 
close  that  one  doesn't  know  what  he  may  ask  an' 
what  he  mayn't.  But  if  you  don't  like  to  speak, 
you  can  hold  your  tongue,  you  know.  Now,  tell 
me,  how  old  are  you?" 

"  Fifteen,"  replied  Mary. 

"  Ay !  I  thought  ye'd  been  older.  How  long 
have  ye  bin  with  Dick?" 

"  In  cave  here — ten  year.  Before  that,  me  live 
in  my  father's  wdgwam." 

"  Was  yer  father  a  trapper  ?  "  inquired  March 
tenderly. 

Mary's  face  at  once  assumed  an  expression  of 
earnest  gravity,  and  she  answered,  "  Yes,"  in  a 
low,  sad  tone. 

March  was  going  to  have  inquired  farther  on 
this  point,  but  fear  lest  he  should  hurt  the  feel- 
ings of  the  poor  child  induced  him  to  change  the 
Bubject. 

"  And  how  came  ye,"  said  he,  "  first  to  meet 
with  Dick  ? " 


dick's  good  qualities. 


303 


3  and 

i\y  or 
d  that 
>f  sick 
ample 
)f  puin 

I  away 
1  here, 
terribly 
ask  an' 


Mary  pressed  her  lips. 

*'  Oh  !  very  well ;  don't  tell  if  it  ain't  right,  by 
no  manner  o'  means.  Do  ye  think  that  Dick 
intends  to  keep  ye  here  always?" 

«  Me  not  know." 

"  Humph !     An'  you  say  he's  good  to  ye  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  cried  Mary,  with  a  sudden  blaze  of 
animation  on  her  usually  placid  countenance, 
"him's  good,  very  good  —  gooder  to  me  than 
nobody  else." 

"  Well,  I  could  have  guessed  that,  seein'  that 
nobody  else  has  had  any  thing  to  do  with  ye  but 
him  for  ten  years  past." 

"  But  him's  not  only  good  to  me  —  good  to  ev- 
erybody,'' continued  the  girl,  with  increasing  ani- 
mation.  "  You  not  know  hoiv  good — can't  know." 

"  Certainly  not,"  assented  March ;  "  it  ain't 
possible  to  know,  not  havjn'  bin  told;  but  if 
you'll  tell  me  I'll  listen." 

JMarch  Marston  had  at  last  struck  a  chord  that 
vibrated  intensely  in  the  bosom  of  the  warm- 
hearted child.  She  drew  her  log  closer  to  him 
in  her  eagerness  to  dilate  on  the  goodness  of  her 
adopted  father,  and  began  to  pour  into  his  willing 
ears  such  revelations  of  the  kind  and  noble  deeds 
diat  he  h  id  done,  that  March  was  fired  with  enthu- 
siasm, and  began  to  regard  his  frknd  Lick  in  the 
light  of  a  demigod.  Greathearr,  in  the  "  Pilgrim'a 
Progress,"  seemed  most  like  him,  he  thought, 
only  Dick  seemed  grander,  which  was  a  natural 


III 


m 


■  -■'Mm 


304 


THE  WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


feeling ;  for  Bunyan  drew  his  Grealheart  true  to 
nature,  while  Mary  and  March  had  invested  Dick 
with  a  robe  of  romance,  which  glittered  so  much 
that  he  looked  preternaturally  huge. 

March  listened  with  rapt  attention  ;  but  as  Ihe 
readiT  is  not  March,  we  will  not  give  the  narrative 
in  Mary's  bad  English.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  slie 
told  how,  on  one  occasion,  Dick  happened  to  be 
out  hunting  near  to  a  river,  into  which  he  saw  a 
little  Indian  child  fall.  It  was  carried  swiftly  by 
the  current  to  a  cataract  fifty  feet  high,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  would  have  been  over  and  dashed  to 
pieces,  when  Dick  happily  saw  it,  and  plunging  in, 
brought-  it  safe  to  shore,  yet  with  difficulty, 
that  he  barely  gained  the  bank  and  grasped  the 
branch  of  an  overhanging  willow,  when  his  legs 
were  drawn  over  the  edge  of  the  fall.  He  had  to 
hold  on  for  ten  minvites,  till  men  came  from  the 
other  side  of  the  stream  to  his  assistance. 

Mary  also  told  him  (and  it  was  evening  ere  she 
finished  all  she  had  to  tell  him)  how  that,  on 
another  occasion,  Dick  was  out  after  gri>Hes 
with  a  hunter  who  had  somehow  allowed  himself 
to  be  caught  by  a  bear,  and  would  have  been 
torn  to  pieces  had  not  Dick  come  up  with  his 
great  two-edged  sw^ord  —  having  fired  off'  his  rifle 
without  effect  —  and,  with  one  mighty  sweep  at 
the  monster's  neck,  cut  right  through  its  jugular 
vein,  and  all  its  other  veins  down  to  the  very 
marrow  of  its  back-bone ;  in  fact,  killed  it  at  one 


MARY'S   STORIES   ABOUT   DICK. 


30o 


blow  —  a  feat  which  no  one  had  ever  done,  or 
had  ever  heard  of  as  being  done,  from  the  days 
of  the  first  Indian  to  that  hour. 

Many  such  stories  did  Mary  relate  to  the  poor 
invalid,  who  bore  his  sufl'erings  with  exemplary 
patience  and  fortitude,  and  listened  with  unflag 
giiig  interest ;  but  of  all  the  stories  she  told,  none 
seemed  to  afford  her  so  much  pleasure  in  the 
telling  as  the  following:  — 

One  day  Dick  went  out  to  hunt  buffaloes,  on 
his  big  horse,  for  he  had  several  steeds,  one  or 
other  of  which  he  rode  according  to  fancy ;  but 
he  always  mounted  the  big  black  one  when  he 
went  afier  the  buffalo  or  to  war.  Mary  here 
explained  very  carefully,  that  Dick  never  went  to 
war  on  his  own  account,  that  he  was  really  a 
man  of  peace,  but  that,  when  he  saw  oppression 
and  cruelty,  his  blood  boiled  within  him  at  such 
a  rate  that  he  almost  went  mad,  and  often,  under 
the  excitement  of  hot  indignation,  would  he  dash 
into  the  midst  of  a  band  of  savages  and  scatter 
them  right  and  left,  like  autumn  leaves. 

Well,  as  he  was  riding  along  among  the  moun- 
tains, near  the  banks  of  a  broad  stream,  and  no 
far  from  the  edge  of  the  great  prairie,  he  came 
suddenly  on  an  object  that  caused  his  eyes  to 
glare  and  his  teeth  to  grind  ;  for  there,  under  the 
shade  of  a  few  branches,  with  a  pot  of  water  by 
her  side,  sat  an  old  Indian  woman.  Dick  did 
not  need  to  ask  what  she  was  doing  there.     He 

26* 


;p|M:^M 


.'1  ' 


■•i'ii; 


X 


fl  ' 


306 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  TnF4  WEST. 


knew  the  ways  of  the  redskins  too  well  to  re* 
main  a  moment  in  doubt.  She  had  grown  so 
old  and  feeble  that  her  relations  had  found  her 
burdensome ;  so,  according  to  custom,  thoy  left 
her  there  to  die.  The  poor  old  creature  knew 
that  she  was  a  burden  to  them.  She  know  also 
the  customs  of  her  tribe  —  it  was  at  her  own 
request  she  had  been  left  there,  a  willing  victitn 
to  an  inevitable  fate,  because  she  felt  that  hvv 
beloved  children  would  get  on  better  without 
her.  They  made  no  objection.  Food,  to  lust 
for  a  few  days,  was  put  within  the  reach  of  her 
trembling  hand;  a  fire  was  kindled,  and  a  Utile 
pile  of  wood  placed  beside  it,  also  within  reaeh. 
Then  they  left  her.  They  knew  that  when  that 
food  was  consumed,  and  the  last  stick  placed 
upon  the  fire,  the  shrunken  limbs  would  stand  in 
need  of  no  warmth,  —  the  old  heart  would  be 
still.  Yet  that  heart  had  once  beat  joyfully  at 
the  sound  of  those  pattering  feet  that  now  re- 
tired with  heavy  ruthless  tread  forever.  What  a 
commentary  on  savage  life!  What  a  contrast 
between  the  promptings  of  the  unregenernie 
heart  of  man  and  the  precepts  of  that  blessed  — 
thrice  blessed  gospel  of  Jesus  Christ,  where  love, 
unalterable,  unextinguishable,  glows  in  every 
lesson  and  sweetens  every  command. 

When  Dick  came  upon  her,  suddenly,  as  we 
have  said,  he  was  not  ten  paces  distant  from  the 
spot  where  she  sat ;  but  she  was  apparently  dnaf 


DICK   AND   THE   OLD   INDIAN   WOMAN. 


307 


and  blind,  for  she  evinced  no  knowlcdire  of  hia 
presence.  She  was  reaching  out  her  skinny  arm 
to  place  another  stick  upon  the  sinking  tire  at 
the  time,  for  it  was  a  sharp  and  cold,  Ihongh  a 
bright  and  sunny  autumn  d,»y.  Dick  stopped 
\m  horse,  crushed  his  teeth  together,  and  sat  for 
a  few  moments  regarding  her  intently. 

Either  the  tire  wood  had  originally  been  placed 
too  far  away  from  the  old  woman's  hund,  or  she 
had  shifted  her  position,  for  she  could  not  reach 
it.  Once  and  again  bhe  made  the  eflbrt  —  she 
stretched  out  her  withered  arm  and  succeeded  in 
just  touching  the  end  of  one  of  the  pieces  of 
wood,  but  could  not  grasp  it.  She  pawed  it 
once  or  twice,  and  then  gave  up  the  attempt 
wiih  a  little  sigh.  Drawing  herself  slowly  to- 
g(;ther,  she  g;ithered  up  the  rabbit-skin  blanket 
which  rested  on  her  shoulders  and  attempted 
feebly  to  fold  it  across  her  chest.  Then  she 
slowly  dropped  her  white  head,  with  an  expres- 
sion of  calm  resignation  on  her  old  wrinkled 
visage. 

Dick's  great  heart  almost  burst  with  conflict- 
ing emotion.  The  wrath  that  welled  up  as  he 
thought  of  the  deserters  was  met  by  a  gush  of 
lender  pity  as  he  gazed  through  blinding  tears 
on  the  deserted.  With  a  fling  that  caused  his 
stout  war-horse  to  stagger,  he  leaped  to  the 
ground,  tore  open  the  breast  of  his  hunting-shirt, 
and,  sitting  down  beside  the  old  woman,  placed 
her  cold  hand  in  his  bosom. 


\v 


■VI 


V.< 


'Ji 


1 1 


i'.i 


M 


308 


TUB   WILD   MAN  OP  THE   WEST. 


She  uttered  a  feeble  cry  and  made  a  slight  mo. 
meiilary  elfoit  to  resKst ;  but  Diek'd  act,  though 
promptly,  was,  neverthekiss,  tenderly  done,  and 
the  big  hand  that  stroked  her  white  head  was  so 
evidently  tliat  of  a  friend,  that  the  poor  creatnn^ 
resigned  herself  to  the  enjoyment  of  that  vvarnilli 
of  which  she  stood  so  much  in  need.  Mean- 
while Dick,  without  shifting  his  position,  stretched 
forth  his  long  arm,  collected  all  the  wood  williiu 
reach,  and  placed  it  on  the  fire. 

After  a  few  minutes  the  old  woman  raised  her 
head,  and  looking  earnestly  in  Dick's  ffice  with 
her  bleared  and  almost  sightless  eyes,  said,  in  the 
Indian  language,  with  which  her  companion  was 
well  acquainted,  — 

"  My  son,  have  you  come  back  to  me  ?  " 

A  gush  of  indignant  feeling  had  again  to  be 
violently  stifled  ere  Dick  could  answer  in  mod- 
erate tones, —  '  • 

"  No,  mother,  he's  not  come  back  ;  but  Til  be 
a  son  to  ye.  See.  sit  up  an'  warm  yerself  at  1  he 
blaze.     I'll  get  ye  some  meat  and  sticks." 

In  hot  haste,  and  with  desperate  activity,  for 
he  had  no  other  way  of  relieving  his  feelings, 
Dick  cut  down  a  quantity  of  firew^ood  and  placed 
it  close  to  the  hand  of  the  old  woman.  Then  he 
untied  the  tin  kettle  which  he  always  carried  at 
his  saddle-bow,  and,  with  a  piece  of  dried  venir^on, 
concocted  a  quantity  of  hot  soup  in  a  marvel- 
lously short  space  of  time.     This  done,  he  sat 


DICK   AND   THE   OLD   INDIAN   WOMAN. 


SOU 


down  beside  the  old  woman  and  made  her  j)ar- 
take  of  it. 

"Is  it  long  since  they  left  ye,  mother?"  lie 
s;ii(l,  aft(T  she  had  swallowed  a  little. 

The  old  woman  pondered  for  a  few  seconds. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  not  long.  Only  one  sun 
das  gone  down  since  my  son  left  me."  Th'Ui 
she  added,  in  a  sad  lone,  "  I  loved  him.  He  is 
u  great  warrior  —  a  brave  chief — and  lie  lov.^d 
nu;  too.  But  he  had  to  leave  me.  I  am  old 
and  useless.     It  is  my  fale." 

"  Describe  your  son  to  me,"  said  Dick,  £.b- 
riiplly. 

"  He  is  tall  and  straight  as  the  poplar,"  began 
the  old  creature,  while  a  look  of  pride  j)layed 
for  a  moment  on  her  withered  countenance. 
"His  shoulders  are  broad  and  his  limbs  are  supple. 
He  can  run  and  leap  like  the  deer,  but  not  so 
well  as  he  once  could.  Gray  hairs  are  now 
mingling  with  the  black " 

"  Has  he  any  mark  by  which  I  could  find  him 
out?  "  interrupted  Dick,  impatiently. 

"  He  has  a  deep  cut  over  his  right  eye,"  re- 
turned the  woman;  "but  stay,"  she  added,  in 
Bome  alarm,  "  you  would  not  harm  my  son,  you 
are  not  an  enemy  ?  " 

"  No,  I  would  not ;  I  would  do  iiim  good. 
Which  way  did  they  go  ?  " 

"  To  the  prairie  —  to  the  rising  sun." 

Dick  at  once  arose,  placed  the  kettle  of  soup 


'r  ■  1 


,S 


ff  f. 


3i0 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF   THE   WEST. 


close  to  the  old  woman's  side,  and,  unbuckling 
his  saddle-girth,  removed  the  blanket  that 
covered  his  saddle,  and  transferred  it  to  her 
shoulders. 

This  done,  without  uttering  another  word,  he 
vaulted  into  his  saddle,  and  dashed  away  as  if  he 
were  flying  for  his  life.  The  old  woman  listened 
until  the  clatter  of  his  horse's  hoofs  ceased  to 
beat  upon  her  deadened  ear,  and  then  bent  her 
head,  as  at  the  first,  in  calm  resignation.  Doubt- 
less she  fancied  that  another  fellow-creature  had 
forsaken  her,  and  that  the  end  would  soon  come. 

But  Dick  had  not  forsaken  her.  He  bounded 
along  over  the  rugged  ground  on  the  mettlesome 
steed,  striking  fire  from  the  flinty  rocks,  leaping 
creeks  and  rivulets,  bursting  through  bush  and 
brake,  mile  after  mile,  until  he  gained  the  open 
prairie,  while  the  black  coat  of  his  charger  was 
speckled  with  foam.  Here  he  drew  reiii,  and 
trotted  hither  and  thither  in  search  of  the  tracks 
of  the  Indians.  He  found  them  at  last,  and  dis- 
mounted tf>  examine  them,  for,  save  to  the  eye 
of  a  trapper  or  a  redman,  there  were  no  visible 
tracks  on  Ihat  hard  turf. 

Remounting,  he  resumed  his  headlong  course  — 
sweeping  over  the  springy  turf  of  the  plains  as  if 
his  horse  were  a  winged  Pegasus,  whose  energies 
could  not  know  exhaustion.  All  day  he  rode, 
and  as  evening  drew  on  he  came  in  sight  of  the 
tribe  of  Indians. 


DICK   DISCOVERS   THE   REDSKIN. 


311 


They  had  encamped  for  the  night,  and  were 
picparing  their  evening  meal ;  but  when  they 
saw  the  solitary  horseman  on  the  far-ofl'  horizon, 
ihe  bra\  es  and  old  men  went  to  the  verge  of  the 
c:imp  to  watch  him.  On  he  came,  bounding  over 
the  turf  like  the  prong-horned  antelope,  turning 
neither  to  the  right  hand  nor  to  the  left,  but 
taking  every  thing  that  intercepted  him  in  a  flying 
leap,  and  bearing  down  on  the  camp  as  an  arrow 
flies  from  the  bow. 

Although  a  single  horseman  is  not  usually  an 
object  of  terror  to  a  band  of  Indians,  these  braves 
soon  began  to  evince  by  their  looks  that  they  did 
not  feel  easy  in  regard  to  this  one.  As  he  drew 
near  they  recognized  him  ;  for  Dick  had  on  a 
former  occasion  given  this  particular  tribe  a  tasie 
of  his  prowess.  Each  man  instantly  rushed  to  his 
weapons  and  horse ;  but  the  horses  had  been 
turned  out  to  graze,  and  could  not  be  easily 
caught.  Before  they  secured  their  weapons  Dick 
was  in  the  midst  of  them.  With  an  eagle  glance 
he  singled  out  the  chief  with  the  cut  over  his  right 
eye,  and  rode  between  him  and  his  tent.  The 
Indian,  seeing  that  he  was  cut  oft'  from  his 
weapons,  darted  swiftly  out  upon  the  plain,  and 
made  for  a  clump  of  stunted  trees,  hoping  to  find 
shelter  until  his  comradeB  could  come  to  his 
rescue.  But  Dick  was  there  before  him,  and  rode 
down  upon  him  in  such  a  way  that  he  was  com« 


iif-"' 


Bill 


1^ 


i  \ 


.J...— j»»  ■>— . 


-'>:> 


312 


TUE   WILD   MAN   OF   THE   WEST. 


pelled  to  take  to  the  open  plain  and  run  for  hia 
life. 

His  pursuer  allowed  him  to  run,  keeping  just 
close  enough  to  him  to  force  him  into  the  par- 
ticular course  he  desired  him  to  take.  But  Ino 
savage  proved,  indeed,  to  be  what  his  mother  had 
styled  him —  a  brave  cliief.  Apparently  resolving 
rather  to  die  than  to  be  hunted  thus  like  a  wolf, 
he  halted  suddenly,  turned  sharp  round,  and, 
crossing  his  arms  on  his  bare  chest,  looked  Dick 
full  in  the  face  as  he  came  up.  Just  as  he  was 
within  ten  yards  of  him,  the  Indian  drew  his 
knife,  and  hurled  it  at  the  breast  of  his  enemy 
with  such  violence  that  it  hissed  in  its  passage 
through  the  air.  Dick  received  it  on  his  shield, 
where  it  stood  quivering.  Plucking  it  therefrom 
with  a  grim  smile,  he  placed  it  in  his  own  girdle, 
and  riding  up  to  the  Indian,  sternly  bade  him 
mount  in  front  of  him. 

There  was  no  refusing  to  obey  that  voice.  The 
Indian  cast  one  uneasy  glanca  towa:d  his  camp, 
which  was  now  far  away  on  the  plain,  but  there 
was  no  i^ign  of  any  one  coming  to  the  re^^cue.  His 
captor  liad  got  Ihe  credit  of  being  an  evil  spirit, 
and  he  felt  that  he  was  left  to  his  fate.  A  hasty 
repetition  of  the  order  compelled  him  to  turn  and 
seize  the  m;ine  of  the  horse.  Dick  held  out  his 
toe  for  him  to  step  on  ;  the  next  moment  lie  was 
seated  in  front  of  the  pale-face,  galloping  toward 
the  mountains. 


'  -"<^,*— 


.^-   - 


T'' 


DICIv  S   LESSON   TO   THE  REDSKIN. 


313 


Whatever  astonishment  the  Indian  felt  at  this 
singular  treatment,  or  whatever  his  curiosity  as 
to  the  result  of  it  all,  his  .countenance  expressed 
nothing  but  calm  scorn  and  defiance.  He  was 
evidently  working  himself  into  that  state  of  mind 
which  these  redskin  warriors  endeavor  to  assume 
when  they  are  captured  and  taken  to  the  stake  and 
the  torture,  there  to  prove  their  title  to  the  name 
of  brave  by  enduring  the  most  inconceivable 
a<yonies  with  stoical  indifference,  or  there  to 
bring  discredit  on  their  tribe,  infamy  on  their 
name,  and  joy  to  their  enemies,  by  breaking 
down  under  the  infliction  of  tortures,  at  the  bare 
mention  of  which  humanity  shudders, 

For  some  time  they  maintained  the  same  head- 
long speed.  When,  however,  all  danger  of  pursuit 
was  over,  Dick  drew  rein,  and  proceeded  more 
leisurely,  in  order  to  relieve  his  now  jaded  steed. 
Bat  that  was  a  steed  of  the  true  metal.  It  pos- 
sessed that  generous  spirit  which  would  hav3 
induced  it  \villingly  to  exert  itself  even  to  the 
death.  Its  owner  might  have  ridden  it  till  it  fell 
prostrate  and  dying  on  the  plain,  but  he  could 
not  have  ridden  it  to  the  point  of  refusing  to 
advance  because  of  exhaustion.  He  was  merciful 
to  it,  and  went  slowly  during  the  night ;  but 
he  did  not  come  to  a  final  haio  until  the  rising 
sun  found  him  close  to  the  camp  of  the  dying 
woman. 

The  Indian  now  for  the  first  time  began  partly 

27 


iNtt 


«v;i 


I 


.^<^' 


314 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF   THE   WEST. 


to  guess  the  object  of  his  having  been  brought 
there,  and  steeled  his  heart  to  bear  whatever 
might  await  him. 

Dick  dismounted,  and  grasping  the  Indian  with 
a  force  that  showed  him  how  helpless  he  would 
be  in  a  personal  struggle  should  he  venture  to 
attempt  it,  led  him  forward,  and  placed  him  a 
few  paces  in  front  of  his  dying  mother. 

She  was  sitting  just  as  she  had  been  left,  but 
liie  fire  had  gone  out,  and  she  trembled  violently 
beneath  the  blanket  which  she  had  sought  to  pull 
closer  around  her  wasted  form.  Dick  blamed 
himself  mentally  for  having  put  so  little  wood  on 
the  fire,  and  proceeded  to  rekindle  it ;  but,  before 
doing  so,  he  took  a  chain  from  his  saddle-bow, 
with  which  he  fastened  the  Indian  to  a  tree  that 
stood  exactly  opposite  the  spot  on  which  the  old 
woman  sat,  and  not  ten  paces  distant.  He  bound 
him  in  such  a  way  that  he  could  sit  on  the  ground 
and  lean  his  back  against  the  tree,  but  he  could 
neither  stand  up  nor  lie  down.  » 

For  the  first  time  the  countenance  of  the 
savage  betrayed  uneasiness.  He  believed,  no 
doubt,  that  he  was  to  be  left  to  witness  the  dying 
agonies  of  his  mother,  and  the  thought  filled  him 
with  horror.  To  leave  her,  as  he  did  to  perish, 
had  not  been  difficult,  because  he  knew  that  he 
should  not  see  the  act  of  perishing;  but  to  be 
brought  there  and  compelled  to  witness  this 
terrible  doom  acted  out  in  all  its  minute  and 


dick's  lesson  to  the  redskin.        315 

horrible  details  on  the  mother  whom  he  had 
once  loved  so  tenderly,  was  maddening  to  think 
of.  All  the  dread  tortures  that  had  yet  been 
invented  and  practised  on  warriors  must  have 
seemed  to  him  as  nothing  compared  with  this 
awful  device  of  the  pale-face,  on  whom  he  now 
glared  wdth  the  eyes  of  implacable  hate  and 
ferocity. 

"  Will  the  pale-face,"  he  said,  fiercely,  "  cast 
me  loose,  and  meet  me  hand  to  hand  in  a  fair 
fight  ?  Surely,"  he  added,  changing  his  tone  to 
one  of  ineffable  scorn,  "  the  pale-face  is  not  weak, 
he  is  not  a  small  man,  that  he  should  fear  a  chief 
like  Bighorn." 

"  Hark'ee !  Bighorn,"  said  Dick,  striding  up  to 
him,  and  laying  the  cold  edge  of  his  hatchet  on 
the  Indian's  forehead;  "if  you  speak  another 
word  above  yer  breath,  the  pale-face  will  cleave 
ye  to  the  chin." 

There  was  something  so  thoroughly  resolute 
in  Dick's  voice  that  the  Indian  was  cowed 
effectually. 

The  fire  was  soon  lighted,  and  Dick  chafed 
and  warmed  the  limbs  of  the  old  woman  until  he 
brought  back  the  vital  spark.  Then  he  set  on 
the  kettle  to  boil.  While  a  new  mess  was  pre- 
paring, he  w^ent  into  the  wood,  and,  with  lusty 
blows,  brought  down  the  trees  and  cut  them  into 
huge  billets,  which  he  piled  upon  the  fire  until  it 
reared  again  and  the  heart  of  the  feeble  creature 


Ml. 


M: 


■,■;:'!. 


316 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


began  to  beat  once  more  with  somewhat  of  its 
wonted  vigor.  This  done,  he  arranged  a  couch 
in  such  a  way  that  she  might  get  the  full  benefit 
of  the  heat  without  being  scorched ;  after  which 
he  rubbed  down  his  good  steed  and  cast  it  loose 
to  feed,  then  he  cooked  and  ate  some  food,  but 
offered  never  a  bit  to  the  Indian,  who  gazed  at 
him  as  he  performed  these  various  actions  with 
ever-increasing  amazement  and  anxiety. 

Then  Dick  sat  down  beside  the  old  woman,  to 
feed  and  tend  her  till  she  should  die;  and  he 
knew  the  signs  of  death  too  well  to  suppose  that 
his  care  would  be  long  required.  All  that  day, 
and  all  that  night,  and  all  the  next  day,  did  thp 
trapper,  the  old  woman,  and  the  Indian,  remain 
in  much  the  same  position.  Dick  moved  about 
a  little,  to  give  the  old  woman  food  and  drink  as 
she  required  it,  and  to  wrap  the  blanket  more 
comfortably  round  her,  for  which  kind  deeds  the 
poor  creature  often  tried  to  gaze  fondly  in  his 
face  with  her  sightless  eyes. 

During  all  this  time  her  son  sat  opposite,  ob- 
serving every  look  and  motion,  yet  unable  him- 
self to  move.  The  pangs  of  hunger  now  began 
to  gnaw  within  him,  and  from  his  cramped  posi- 
tion, he  became  so  cold  that  he  trembled  violently 
in  every  limb,  despite  his  efforts  to  command 
himself.  But  Dick  paid  no  attention  whatever 
to  him ;  he  knew  that  he  was  strong,  and  could 
stand  it.     Once  the  Indian  implored  his  jailer  to 


T^5 


DICK'S   LESSON   TO   THE   REDSKIN. 


317 


give  him  some  food,  but   Dick  said,  sternly, — 
"I'll  give  ye  food  before  ye  die,  if  ye  keep  quiet.''' 

At  last,  about  nightfall  of  Ihe  second  day,  the 
sands  of  life  began  to  run  slowly.  Dick  saw 
that  the  old  woman's  end  was  approaching,  so 
he  rose,  and,  going  toward  her  son,  he  placed 
food  before  him.  He  devoured  it  ravenously. 
Then  he  gave  him  drink,  and,  loosing  him,  led 
him  to  the  fire,  where  he  speedily  recovered  his 
wonted  heat  and  energy.  After  that,  Dick  led 
him  to  his  mother's  side  and  made  him  kneel. 

"  Mother,"  said  Dick,  "  can  you  see  and  hear 
me?" 

"  Ay,  but  you  are  not  my  son,"  said  the  dying 
woman,  faintly.  "  You  are  a  pale-face — you  are 
very  good  —  but  you  are  not  my  son." 

"  True,  mother ;  but  see,  I  have  brought  your 
son  back  to  you !  Lay  youi  .land  on  her  fore- 
head," he  added,  in  that  low,  stern  undertone 
which  he  had  used  throughout  to  Bighorn,  who 
could  not  but  obey,  "  stroke  her  head,  look  in  her 
eyes,  and  speak  to  her."  » ' 

The  redman  did  not  require  to  be  told  now. 
A  natural  impulse  led  him  to  do  as  he  was  bid. 
The  instant  the  tones  of  his  voice  struck  her  ea*, 
the  old  woman  seemed  to  awaken  with  a  start ; 
she  looked  up  eagerly,  caught  the  hand  that 
touched  her  forehead,  and,  passing  her  own  thin 
hand  up  to  the  Indian's  face,  felt  the  scar  over 
his  eye,  as   if   to  render   herself  doubly   sure. 

27* 


•M„l 


:H- 


318 


THE   WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


Then  she  grasped  the  hand  again  in  both  of 
hers,  and,  taking  it  under  the  blanket,  pressi^d 
it  to  her  withered  breast  and  held  it  tighlly 
there. 

But  that  burst  of  unexpected  joy  hastened  the 
falling  of  the  last  few  grains  of  sand.  For  ten 
minutes  longer  they  watched  her  as  the  breath 
came  and  went  more  and  more  feebly.  Then  it 
ceased  altogether,  and  death  sealed  her  eyes. 
But  she  did  not  release  the  hand  of  her  son. 
He  had  some  difficulty  in  loosening  that  clasp 
of  maternal  love  which  was  stronger  even  than 
death. 

After  all  was  over,  Dick  seized  the  Indian  and 
led  him  to  the  tree,  to  which  he  chained  him 
again.  Then  he  dug  a  grave  in  the  soft  soil,  in 
which  he  placed  the  body  of  the  old  woman  with 
gentle  care.  Having  covered  it  over  he  went 
into  the  woods,  caught  and  saddled  his  horse, 
and  led  him  toward  the  wondering  savage,  whom 
he  once  more  unbound  and  set  free. 

"  Bighorn,*'  said  Dick,  impressively,  "  you've 
been  made  to  comfort  and  gladden  the  heart  o' 
yer  old  mother  in  her  last  moments.  If  ye  was  a 
pale-face,  ye'd  thank  the  Great  Spirit  for  that  to 
the  last  day  o'  yer  life.  If  you  ever  do  come  to 
think  like  the  pale-faces,  you'll  remember  that 
you've  to  thaik  me  for  bringing  you  here.  Go, 
tell  the  redsk.  ns  who  it  is  that  caught  ye,  and 
what  he  did  and  said  to  ye." 


MARY   AND   THE   SECRET. 


319 


Saying  this,  Dick  mounted  his  horse  and  rode 
very  slowly  into  the  forest,  leaving  the  redman 
standing  by  the  side  of  his  mother's  grave. 

After  Mary  had  concluded  this  story,  which,  we 
may  remark,  she  related  with  much  fewer  com- 
ments than  we  have  seen  fit  to  pass  upon  it,  she 
and  March  looked  at  each  other  for  a  long  time 
in  silence.     Then  March  suddenly  exclaimed, — 

"  He's  a  splendid  fellow,  —  Dick  !  " 

Mary,  both  by  looks  and  words,  highly  ap- 
proved of  this  opinion.  "  And  yet,"  said  she, 
somewhat  abstractedly,  "  this  bees  the  man  who 
peepils  call " 

Mary  pursed  her  lips  suddenly. 

"  Call  what  ?  "  inquired  March,  quickly. 

"  Wicked,  wild,  bad  man,"  replied  Mary,  who, 
fortunately,  could  say  all  this  with  perfect  truth 
without  betraying  her  secret.  In  fact,  poor  Mary 
had  never  had  a  secret  confided  to  her  before,  and 
having  been  told  by  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West 
that  she  was  on  no  account  to  reveal  his  real  title 
to  their  guest,  she  was  in  the  utmost  perplexity 
lest  it  should  slip  out  unawares. 

"  Mary,"  said  March,  who  was  always  stum- 
bling upon  the  verge  of  the  truth  in  a  most  unac- 
countable way,  without  actually  getting  hold  of 
it, "  have  you  ever  seen  the  Wild  Man  of  the 
West  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  sfirj,  with  a  gay  smile. 


ill  \-\ 


!■? 


I"  ! 


320 


THE  WILD   MAN   OF   THE   WEST. 


"  Have  you  ?  Well  now,  that's  odd !  How 
much  I  should  like  to  see  him.  To  tell  you  the 
truth,  one  of  my  chief  reasons  for  coming  here 
was  to  see  him.     What  like  is  he  ?  " 

"  Like  Dick,"  replied  the  girl,  quietly. 

"  Ijike  Dick ! "  echoed  March  in  surprise ; 
"  why,  that's  what  Dick  said  himself,  and  yet,  by 
all  accounts,  his  character  must  be  very  different 
from  that  of  Dick,  who  seems  to  be  the  kindest, 
tenderest-hearted  man  that  ever  came  to  trap  in 
the  Rocky  Mountains."  ■  ^ 

"  What  does  peepils  say  'bout  this  Wild  Mans 
of  the  West  ?  "  inquired  Mary.  1 

"  That  he's  awful  fierce  an'  terrible  cruel,  an' 
ten  or  fifteen  feet  high,  I  forget  which,  for  every- 
body gives  him  a  different  height." 

Mary  laughed.     "  Bees  that  all  ?  " 

"  Oh  no !     They  say  he  eats  men." 

Mary  laughed  again. 

"  An'  women  and  bears  —  raw." 

Mary  laughed  louder  and  longer  than  ever,  and 
when  she  laughed  she  looked  so  ineffably  sweet, 
that  March  resolved  to  go  on  with  the  catalogue 
of  the  Wild  Man's  virtues  piece-meal,  waiting 
for  the  laugh  between  each  statement,  until  there 
was  not  another  idea  left  in  his  brain  for  his 
tongue  to  utter.  But  this  amiable  intention  was 
frustrated  by  the  report  of  a  gun  outside,  which 
echoed  and  reechoed  among  these  savage  cliffs, 


A    STRANGE   OCCUTlllENCE. 


321 


fti, 


like  mutterino;  Ihnnder.  It  was  followed  by  a  yell 
that  caused  Mary  to  start  up  \vi1h  a  look  of  horror 
and  rush  out  of  the  cave,  leaving  the  invalid  in  a 
most  distressing  state  of  uncertainty  as  to  what 
he  should  do,  and  in  no  little  anxietv  as  to  what 
would  happen  next. 


IS  ■:' 


C' 


r!t 


':lil; 


322 


THE  WILD   MAN   OF   THE  WEST. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

The  ^lyRtcries  of  the  Cave  ex['laiticd.  —  Ingenious  Devices  of  th« 
Wild  Man.  —  ^lari'h  and  Mary  bcslogt'd.  — The  Redskins  proceed 
to  niaiie  themselves  at  Home  in  the  Cavern. 


There  are  few  things  in  this  world  which  are 
not  somewhat  mysterious,  or  that  cannot  be  by  a 
peculiar  combination  of  circumstances,  more  or 
less  invested  with  mystery ;  and  we  hold  it  to  be 
an  unfair  and  a  very  paltry  device  on  the  part  of 
an  author  to  seek  to  mystify  his  readers  by  keep- 
ing them  in  unnecessary  ignorance  of  that  which 
is  in  itself  simple  and  commonj^iace. 

Therefore,  we  beg  leave  to  state  that  the  appa- 
rent mystery  with  which  we  concluded  the  last 
chapter  was  not  a  mystery  at  all !  The  loud 
report  there  referred  to  was  caused  by  a  savage 
discharging  his  gun,  and  the  cry  that  followed 
was  the  result  of  that  same  savage  opening  his 
ugly  mouth  and  giving  vent  to  a  tremendous 
howl. 

That  this  was  a  howl  of  triumph  was  evident 
to  ears  accustomed  to  the  war-whoop  of  the  red- 
man.  That  it  w  as  destined  to  be  succeeded  by  an 
exclamation  of  mingled  disappointment  and  sur* 


DICK   AN   OBJECT    OF  CURIOSITY. 


323 


prise  was  evident,  fit  least  to  Mary,  who  knew 
the  mysteries  of  the  pJacc. 

In  order  to  make  tliis  plain  without  further 
circumlocution,  we  may  as  well  inform  the  reader 
at  once  tliat  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West  (perhaps 
we  should  call  him  Dick,  in  deference  to  March 
Marston's  ignorance  of  his  real  cha/acter  at  this 
time)  was  not  only  a  subject  of  terror  to  the 
Indians  inhabiting  this  region  of  the  earth  at 
that  particular  era  in  the  world's  history,  but 
also  a  subject  of  intense  curiosity.  Hence,  for 
many  years  past  it  had  been  an  object  of  ambi- 
tion, on  the  part  of  the  more  courageous  of  the 
Indian  warriors,  to  trace  this  terrible  creature  to 
his  familiar  haunts,  and  "  beard  the  lion  in  his 
den."     . 

Dick  soon  became  fully  aware  of  this,  and,  not 
being  a  mysterious  monster  or  demon,  but  a 
mere  mortal  (although,  doubtless,  a  sixigularly 
huge  and  eccentric  one),  it  behoved  him  to  frus- 
trate the  amiable  intentions  of  his  savage  tor- 
mentors. In  order  to  effect  this,  he  first  of  all 
selected,  as  we  have  seen,  a  gloomy,  secluded, 
and  almost  inaccessible  spot  among  the  Rocky 
Mountains  as  his  residence,  which  he  made  a 
point  of  quitting  and  returning  to  only  in  the 
dark  hours  of  night  or  early  morning,  so  far  as 
was  practicable. 

Still  further  to  bewilder  the  savages,  —  against 
whom  he  bore  no  grudge,  and  to  avoid  encoun- 


iltlM, 


N 


iri 


!  I 


324 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


tering  whom  was  his  chief  desire  —  Dick  varied 
his  costume,  appearing  sometimes  in  the  dress 
of  a  Blackfoot  chief,  or  a  Cree  warrior ;  at  other 
times  in  the  hunting-shirt  and  cap  of  a  trapper 
But,  d' spite  his  utmost  efforts,  he  occasionally 
had  to  face  and  fight  the  redskins  —  a  necessity 
which  so  exasperated  his  naturally  fiery  temper 
that,  on  such  occasions,  he  became  utterly  re- 
gardless of  his  life,  and  rushing  upon  any  odds 
with  a  terrific  roar  of  his  deep  bass  voice,  so  dif- 
ferent from  the  shrill  yell  of  the  Indians  —  would 
cleave  his  way  right  through  their  ranks  with 
his  long  double-edged  sword ;  then,  returning  to 
the  charge  with  increased  fury,  would  so  appal 
and  horrify  them,  that  the  usual  result  was  a 
general  and  precipitate  flight. 

Perhaps  some  readers  may  wonder  how  it  was 
possible  that  he  could  escape  being  killed  in 
these  encounters;  but  it  must  be  remembered 
that  in  those  days  guns  were  by  no  means  so 
plentiful  among  the  Indians  as  they  now  are, 
and  arrows  are  comparatively  harmless  missiles. 
Dick  always  wore  under  his  leather  coat,  a  vest 
of  thick  buffalo  leather,  which  rendered  him 
arrow-proof  in  Ihe  vital  regions  of  his  body, 
unless  shot  at  with  a  strong  bow  by  a  powerful 
arm  from  a  short  distance. 

This  under-coat  or  piece  of  armor  added  a 
little  to  his  naturally  gigantic  proportions,  which 
were  still  further  enhanced  by  the  flying  tags  and 


dick's  charger. 


325 


scalp-locks  and  fringes  of  his  dress,  and  the  wild 
mas-ses  of  his  long  hair.  He  rode,  as  we  have  else- 
where mentioned,  a  magnificent  charger,  which 
he  had  purchased  in  Mexico,  and  whose  sire,  no 
doubt,  had  been  one  of  those  noble  barbs  which 
bore  the  cavaliers  of  Spain  to  the  conquest  of  the 
New  World.  The  mane  and  tail  of  this  animal, 
iiaving  never  been  cut,  were  of  immense  length, 
and,  when  violently  agitated,  seemed  to  envelop 
horse  and  man.  AHpgether,  the  tout  ensemble  of 
Dick  and  his  charger  on  any  of  the  rencontrea 
above  referred  to,  was  sufficiently  awful,  and  as 
he  was  seldom  seen  near  at  hand,  except  in  a 
condition  of  blazing  fury,  there  is  little  wonder 
that,  in  the  process  of  time,  he  became  celebrated 
throughout  the  country  as  the  Wild  Man  of  the 
West.  -  r  -I' 

The  white  trappers,  too,  were  somewhat  curious 
to  know  something  about  this  mysterious  brother ; 
but  he  shunned  them  even  more  determinedly 
than  he  did  the  Indians,  though,  of  course,  he 
never  fought  with  them,  seeing  that  they  did  not 
attempt  to  murder  him  or  interfere  with  his 
movements  as  the  savages  did.  But  there  were 
one  or  two  bolder  or  more  inquisitive  than  their 
comrades,  who  dogged  the  Wild  Man,  and 
tried  to  force  themselves  upon  him.  These  he 
caught  and  thrashed  soundly,  after  the  ^fashion 
of  a  schoolmaster  with  a  refractory  boy,  and 
turned  them  adrift  with  a  warning  thenceforth 

28 


ij 


m.if[ 


1-'  ! 


iii- 


I  ; 


326 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF   THE   WEST. 


to  mind  their  own  business.  At  last  the  Indians 
set  him  down  as  a  "  great  medicine-man,"  or  a 
demon,  whom  it  was  impossible  to  slay ;  and  the 
trappers  shook  their  heads  and  touched  their 
foreheads  significantly,  as  z^  to  indicate  that  they 
thought  him  mad. 

Thus  Dick,  in  course  of  years,  freed  himself  in 
a  great  measure  from  annoyance,  and  many  good 
and  kind  actions  which  he  did  both  to  Indians 
and  trappers,  began  to  be  circulated  and  exag- 
gerated, so  that  he  became  a  greater  mystery 
than  ever,  especially  to  the  savages,  who  naturally 
misconstrued  the  spirit  in  which  he  made  his 
furious  attacks  in  self-defence,  just  as  much  as 
they  misunderstood  his  motives  in  performing 
deeds  of  kindness.  He  was  a  monstrous  mystery ! 
the  greatest  mystery  that  had  ever  been  seen  or 
heard  of  in  the  Rocky  Mountains  since  the  be- 
ginning of  time,  and,  no  doubt,  a  greater  mystery 
than  will  ever  be  heard  of  there  again! 

Having  traversed  this  roundabout  pathway,  we 
now  come  to  the  explanntion  which  we  intended 
to  have  given  much  earlier  in  this  chapior.  But 
it  is  really  wonderful,  how  natural  it  is  for  the 
human  mind  to  prose  and  to  diverge,  and  how 
very  difficult  it  is,  at  any  time,  to  come  to  the 
point !  Public  speakers  know  this  well.  Perhaps 
their  hearers  know  it  better ! 

Vvell,  although  Dick  was  thus  feared,  yet  he 
vas  not  entirely  unmolested.     Wandering  tribes 


DTCK'S   IXGEXIOUS   PRECAUTIONS. 


327 


from  distant  hunting-grounds  used  to  go  there, 
and,  not  knowhig  much  about  the  Wild  Man  of 
the  West,  did  not  believe  in  him  ;  even  ventured 
to  go  in  search  of  him,  and,  on  more  than  one 
occasion,  almost  caught  him  asleep  in  his  cave. 
Having  an  ingenious  turn  of  mind,  and  being 
somewhat  fanciful,  he  devised  a  curious  plan  to 
deceive  the  savages  and  warn  him  of  their  ap- 
proach. 

By  means  of  an  axe  and  a  knife,  he  carved  a 
representation  of  his  own  head,  and  covered  it 
with  hair  by  means  of  the  tail  of  one  of  his  light- 
colored  horses,  which  he  docked  for  that  purpose. 
(His  steeds,  by  the  way,  occupied  another  cham- 
ber of  the  cavern  in  which  he  dwelt.)  The  head 
thus  formed,  he  planted  behind  a  bush  that  grew 
on  the  ledge  of  rock  about  two  yards  from  the  bot- 
tom of  the  cliff  of  the  amphitheatre  outside,  and 
directly  opposite  to  the  entrance  to  it.  The  cave, 
it  will  be  remembered,  was  on  the  right  of  that 
entrance.  Thus,  the  first  thing  the  savage  be- 
held, on  prowling  up  to  the  opening  of  the  amphi- 
theatre, was  Dick's  image  peeping  at  him  over 
the  bush  opposite.  Of  course  the  instantaneous 
result  was  the  firing  of  a  shot  or  the  discharge  of 
an  arrow,  which,  the  Indians  being  excellent 
marksmen,  invariably  alighted  on  the  bridge  of 
Dick's  nose,  or  in  the  centre  of  his  forehead,  or 
in  one  or  other  of  his  eyes.  As  the  head  wa? 
balanced  on  the  front  edge  of  a  deep  narrow  hole 


r. 


■f  I 


'■■*', 


328 


THE  WILD   MAN   OF  THE  WEST. 


which  happened  to  be  there,  it  was  invariably 
knocked  into  that  hole  by  the  blow,  and  disap- 
peared.  '    *t 

This  was  the  supposed  fall  of  the  famous  Wild 
Man  that  caused  the  yell  which  has  taken  po  long 
to  account  for,  and  the  discovery  of  nothing 
behind  that  bush  except  a  small  deep  hole,  much 
too  small  to  secrete  even  a  little  man's  body  in, 
was  the  cause  of  the  explanation  of  surprise  which 
we  asserted  would  certainly  follow. 

When  an  event  of  this  kind  happened,  Dick 
had  a  large  blunderbuss  in  readiness.  It  was 
loaded  with  a  tremendous  charge  of  small  shot, 
and  a  small  charge  of  powder,  for  he  did  not 
want  to  kill.  His  object  Was  simply  to  punish 
and  to  terrify.  He  also  had  in  readl.iess  a  curious 
machine  which  we  find  *t  rather  difficult  to  de- 
scribe. Every  one  has  heard,  no  doubt,  of  the 
wooden  wheels,  w^ith  wooden  axles,  attached  to 
the  carts  in  some  eastern  countries,  which  groan, 
and  creak,  and  yell,  and  shriek  for  want  of  grease, 
in  a  manner  that  is  almost  maddening  to  all  but 
native  ears.  Dick's  invention  was  founded  partly 
on  the  principle  of  these  eastern  carts,  only  it  was 
worked  by  turning  a  handle,  and  its  sounds  were 
much  more  excruciatingly  intense. 

On  being  startled,  then,  Dick  was  wont  to  seize 
his  blunderbuss,  rush  into  the  outer  cave  where 
the  shrieking-machine  was,  give  the  handle  hs  if  a 
dozen  turns,  and  thus  awaken,  as  it  were,  all  the 


DICK  S   INGENIOUS  PRECAUTIONS. 


329 


demons  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  Dick  came  at 
last  to  know  exactly  what  state  of  things  he  would 
find  outside.  At  the  first  burst  of  discord  ihe 
savages,  however  numerous,  took  to  their  heels, 
and  when  Dick  emerged  from  his  cave,  they  were 
always  within  a  yard  or  two  o^  the  entrance  to  the 
amphitheatre,  every  man  with  outstretched  arms, 
sloped  forward  at  the  acutest  possible  angle  with 
the  ground,  rushing  on  the  wings  of  terror  in  a 
flight  of  unparalleled  precipitancy. 

To  pour  the  charge  of  small  shot  down  into 
the  centre  of  the  flying  mass  was  the  work  of  a 
moment ;  to  mount  his  unsaddled  charger,  and 
dash  down  the  steep  rugged  path  with  a  clatter 
equal  to  that  of  half  a  squadron  of  dragoons,  was 
the  work  of  two  minutes  more.  To  pull  up  sud- 
denly, when  he  had  terrified  the  spirits  of  the 
intruders  wellnigh  out  of  their  bodies,  return 
slowly  to  his  rude  domicih',  reload  his  blunder- 
buss, and  retire  to  rest  with  a  grim  smile  on  his 
bearded  mouth,  and  a  lurking  expression  of  fun 
in  his  big  blue  eyes,  as  he  drew  his  blanket  over 
him,  was  the  usual  termination  of  such  a  scene. 

But  this  was  not  all.  Dick,  like  a  wise  man, 
had  prepared  for  the  worst.  In  the  event  of  the 
Indians  ever  getting  the  length  of  the  interior  of 
his  den,  there  were  other  contrivances  ready  for 
them  ;  chief  among  which  was  a  large  cistern  or 
tank  of  water,  directly  over  the  fireplace,  the 
front  of  which  was  movable,  and  could  be  pulled 

28* 


'^'Vl: 


^iinv 


i'lii 


■:n;] 


330 


THE  WILD   MAN   OF  THE   AVEST. 


down  by  means  of  a  cord  passing  into  the  iiiiior- 
most  cave  of  all,  —  namely,  the  third  cavern  which 
we  have  alluded  to  as  being  Mary's  dormitory. 
By  pulling  this  cord,  the  result  —  instantaneons 
and  hideous  —  would  be  that  a  deluge  of  water 
would  drown  the  fire  black  out,  fill  the  cavern 
with  hot  suffocating  steam  and  ashes,  and  flood 
the  floor. 

How  the  cavern  was  to  be  defended  when  he 
himself  was  not  there,  was  a  problem  which  Dick, 
being  a  mere  man  and  not  a  demon,  had  utterly 
failed  to  solve.  Of  course,  he  could  easily  have 
set  all  manner  of  man-traps  and  spring-guns,  but 
as  these  might  have  taken  efl'ect  upon  some  poor 
wretch  who  had  no  design  upon  his  life,  he  could 
not  venture  to  run  the  risk. 

On  the  present  occasion  —  Dick  being  absent, 
March  being  prostrated  and  all  but  helpless,  and 
Mary  being  unable  to  turn  the  handle  of  the 
shrieking-machine  or  to  fire  the  blunderbuss, 
which  kicked  like  a  small  cannon  —  the  case  of 
the  romantic  pair  was  desperate,  and  their  only 
hope  seemed  to  be  that  the  savages  would  go 
away  without  examining  Ihe  cavern.    Vain  hope ! 

But  Dick  had  not  left  them  to  take  their  chance 
in  that  way.  He  had  warned  Mary,  long  ago, 
how  to  act  in  such  circumstances,  and  she  soon 
returned  to  March  with  the  news  that  there  were 
four  Indian  warriors  outside,  examining  the  bush 


MARCH   AXD    MARY   BESIEGED. 


331 


behind  which  the  head  had  disappeared,  and  that 
they  would  very  soon  find  out  the  cave. 

"  That's  not  pleasant  news,  Mary,"  said  March, 
starting  up  in  spite  of  pain  and  giddiness  ;  "  you 
seem  to  take  it  very  easy  !  " 

"  Com,  quick,"  said  she,  seizing  March  by  the 
hand  ;  "  com  with  me." 

March  said,  mentally,  that  he  would  go  with 
her  into  the  jaws  of  death,  if  need  be ;  but  he 
followed  up  the  mental  speech  with  the  audible 
remark,  that  he  had  better  take  some  weapon 
with  him. 

"  No,  no  ;  com !  Me  git  you  spear,  hatchet 
very  quick  ;  but,  com." 

So  saying,  she  dragged,  rather  than  conducted, 
March  to  the  little  opening  which  led  into  her 
dormitory.  He  had  to  stoop  on  entering;  and 
great  was  his  amazement  on  finding  himself  on 
the  brink  of  a  black  yawning  gulf,  that  seemed 
to  descend  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth.  The 
end  of  a  narrow  plank  rested  on  the  edge  of  this 
gulf,  and  appeared  to  bridge  it  over,  but  the 
other  end  of  the  plank,  and  all  beyond,  were  lost 
in  impenetrable  darkness. 

"  Com  after  me,"  said  Mary,  passing  rapidly 
across  the  gulf  and  disappearing  —  absolutely 
like  a  vision. 

March  hesitated.  He  tried  to  steady  his  some- 
what giddy  head,  but  the  single  word  "  Com  " 
issuing  from  darkness   in   a   very  commanding 


H'.ir 


>: !  ■■ 


332 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


tone  settled  the  point.  He  staggered  across,  held 
out  his  hands,  and  almost  tumbled  over  his  fair 
guide,  on  reaching  the  01  her  end  of  the  plank 
much  sooner  th?.n  he  expected. 

"  Now,  wait.     I  will   com  agin,"  said  Mary, 
recrossing. 

The  view  back  was  a  very  different  thing  from 
the  view  forward.  As  he  stood  there,  on  the 
brink  of  the  yawning  gulf,  March  could  see  right 
'  through  into  the  cavern  he  had  just  left,  and 
could  observe  every  thing  that  took  place  there. 
Mary  hastily  loaded  herself  with  a  rifle  and  the 
bianderbus3,  also  with  powder-horn,  bullet-poiu  h, 
and  a  bag  containing  buffalo-tongues.  With 
these  she  returned  quickly,  and,  brushing  past 
her  companion,  carried  them  further  into  the 
cave. 

"  Now,  help  me  pull,"  she  said,  laying  hold  of 
the  plank. 

March  obeyed  ;  and  obedience  cost  him  much, 
poor  fellow,  for  it  seemed  as  if,  in  the  act,  he  had 
rent  asunder  every  muscle  in  his  right  shoulder. 
The  plank  being  thus  drawn  away,  an  impassable 
gulf  was  left  between  the  inner  and  middle 
cavern,  which,  even  in  the  event  of  its  being  dis- 
covered, presented  no  particular  temptation  to 
induce  any  one  to  explore  further.  Mary  die\\ 
the  plank  into  the  long  natural  passage  which  led 
to  her  private  apartment ;  and  as  this  passage 
turned  abruptly  to  the  right,  there  was  no  possi- 


THE  INDIANS  ENTER  THE  CAVE. 


333 


bility  of  any  one  on  the  other  side  of  tlie  gulf 
being  able  to  see  into  it.  Indeed,  a  light  in  it 
was  not  visible  from  that  point  of  view,  and 
their  voices  could  not  be  heard  unless  they  spoke 
loudly. 

Just  as  the  plank  was  withdrawn,  the  Indians 
discovered  the  mouth  of  the  cavern,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  the  two  watchers  beheld  a  painted  sav- 
age peep  in  at  the  opening  of  the  centre  cave. 
Seeing  that  it  was  empty,  and  observing  at  a 
glance  the  opening  into  the  inner  cave,  he  drew 
back  quickly.  A  minute  after,  the  four  Indians 
darted  across,  and  got  out  of  range  of  that 
opening,  evidently  fearing  that  some  one  was 
there.  They  flitted  past  so  quickly,  yet  noise- 
lessly, that  they  appeared  more  like  shadows  than 
real  men.  .  - 

Presently  one  of  them  stepped  full  in  front  of 
the  opening  with  a  bow  and  arrow  in  his  hand. 
The  light  of  the  fire  was  strong.  March  saw 
him  raise  the  bow,  and  had  just  time  to  draw 
back  when  an  arrow  whizzed  past  him,  and  was 
broken  to  pieces  on  the  rock  behind  his  back. 
Instantly  after  the  echoes  of  the  place  burst 
forth  as  a  shot  was  fired  in  the  same  direction. 
Having  thtis  made  sure  that  the  way  was  clear, 
the  boldest  of  the  savages  entered  with  a  blazing 
pine-knot  held  high  above  his  head  —  the  others 
following  with  bows  ready,  and  arrows  fitted  to 
the  string. 


-;! 


. 


{M't 


t-' 


,1  i 


jAi, 


334 


THE   Wl'^D   MAN   OF   TUB   WEST. 


On  reaching  the  edge  of  tha  yawning  chasm, 
the  forenioit  savage  held  t}.e  torch  over  it,  and 
they  all  gazed  in  tiilence  into  its  unfathomable 
depths.  Satisfied  that  it  was  impassable,  they 
consulted  foi  a  few  minutes,  and  then,  appu- 
rently  coming  to  the  conclusion  that  the  place 
was  untenanted,  they  returned  to  the  middle 
cave,  and  began  to  rummage  and  toss  about  the 
things  they  found  there. 

"  Bring  the  rif.e,"  whispered  March.  "  I  can 
floor  two  at  a  shot  as  they  now  sit." 

"  No,"  Mary  replied,  firmly.  "  Why  make 
blood  ?     They  will  go  'way  soon." 

Mary  was  light ;  but  a  circumstance  occurred 
which  caused  them  to  go  away  sooner  than 
either  she  or  they  had  anticipated. 


'    .    -t- 


or.' 'a 


DICK  S   RIDE   TO   THE   RESCUE. 


83d 


CHAPTER    XX. 


i  Gallop  to  the  Rescue.  —  A  Discovery.  —  Ri^il  t-about  Face.  —  A 
Ui?ugrceable  Surprise  and  a  Sudden  Ijection.-- A  Calm  after  tho 
Storm.  —  3Iary  a  Huntress.  —  Dick's  Story  of  the  ^Murdered 
Trapper. 

When  Dick,  alias  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West, 
left  his  cave,  as  narrated  in  a  previous  chapter, 
and  galloped  away  with  reckless  speed  to  all'ord 
the  aid  of  his  stout  right  arm  to  his  friends  in 
the  Mountain  Fort,  —  for  he  counted  them 
friends,  although  they  littlo  knew  it,  —  he  felt 
that  if  he  was  to  be  of  any  use  he  must  travel 
over  the  country  as  he  had  never  travelled  before, 
except  once,  when  he  had  to  fly  for  his  hfe  before 
five  hundred  Pawnee  warriors. 

It  was  a  grand  sight  to  behold  that  Herculean 
backwoodsman  on  his  noble  steed,  which  seemed 
so  well  proportioned  to  its  rider  that  it  earned 
him  as  if  he  were  but  a  boy,  flying  over  the 
country  on  this  brotherly  errand.  Mile  after  mile 
was  passed,  not  indeed  at  full  speed,  for  that 
would  have  broken  the  good  horse  down  long 
before  the  goal  was  reached,  but  at  a  bowling 
gallop,  taking  bogs,  and  rocks,  and  fallen  trees, 
and  watercourses,  with   an   elastic   bound   that 


Hi'-, 


'f  . 


I\ 


II!' 


!'l 


lis; 


336 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


told  of  bone  and  muscle,  overflowing  with  surplus 
energy. 

Diciv  patted  the  horse's  arching  neck  wiili  a 
looiv  of  pride  and  aflection,  and  the  animal  tossed 
its  head  with  a  slight  neigh  of  pleasure  and  a 
playful  snap  toward  its  rider's  right  foot ;  for  it 
loved  its  master,  as  the  lower  animals  do  alwiiys 
love  those  who  treat  them  well,  and  it  loved  a 
wild,  long,  careering  gallop,  for  that  was  the  only 
means  by  which  it  could  relieve  its  feelings. 

There  was  something  unusually  wild-like  about 
this  horse,  besides  its  great  size  and  extraordina- 
rily long  mane  and  tail.  It  carried  its  head  high 
and  its  tars  pointed  forward,  and  it  looked  boldly 
from  side  to  side,  as  it  went  springingly  along, 
more  like  a  human  being  than  a  horse.  It  actu- 
ally appeared  to  be  taking  intelligent  notice  of 
things  around  it.  So  much  so,  that  Dick  had 
got  into  a  habit  of  sayirg  a  word  or  two  now 
and  then  to  it,  in  a  grave  tone,  as  if  he  were  con- 
versing with  a  friend. 

"  Ay,  it's  a  fine  country,  isn't  it  ?  "  he  said, 
patting  the  neck  again.  > 

The  ears  were  pointed  backwards  at  once,  and 
a  little  neigh  or  squeak,  with  a  toss  of  the  head, 
was  the  reply. 

"  Pity  ye  can't  speak,  an't  it  ?  "  continued  Dick, 
in  a  low,  quiet  tone. 

The  horse  appeared  to  know  that  this  was 
merely  a  meditative  remark,  not  pointedly  ad- 


DICK   MAKES   A   SUDDEN   HALT. 


337 


,)" 


dressed  to  itself,  for  it  only  put  back  one  ear  and 
Kept  the  other  forward. 

"  Now,  lass,"  said  Dick,  firmly  (both  ears  went 
full  back  at  that  sound  and  remained  there), 
"  take  it  easy ;  don't  exert  yerself  over  much,  it 
an't  no  use,  a  short  pace  or  two,  and  —  so." 

The  horse  went  full  swing  over  a  roaring 
watercourse  as  he  spoke,  and  alighted  safe  on 
the  opposite  bank,  but  the  gravelly  soil  was 
treacherous ;  i^  gave  way,  and  the  animal's  hind- 
kirs  slipped  back.  With  a  bound  Dick  sprang 
to  the  ground. 

"  Hyp,  good  horse,"  he  cried,  raising  the 
rein. 

A  powerful  effort,  and  footing  was  regained. 
Dick  vaulted  into  the  saddle  (he  seldom  used  the 
btiiTup),  and  away  they  w^ent  again,  blithe  as  ever. 
Then  a  long  stripe  of  tangled  forest  appeared. 
Dick  diverged  here.  It  was  easier  to  skirt  it 
than  to  crash  through  it.  Presently  a  broad  deep 
river  came  in  view.  There  was  no  looking  for  a 
ford,  no  checking  the  pace.  In  they  went  with 
Bounding  plunge,  as  if  water  were  their  native 
element,  breasted  the  foaming  tide,  and,  gaining 
the  opposite  bank,  went  steadily  forward. 

Thus  on  they  sped,  over  hill  and  dale,  all  that 
night,  for  the  moon  was  bright  in  the  cloudless 
sky,  and  part  of  next  day.  Then  Dick  made  a 
sudden  halt  and  dismounted,  to  examine  some- 
thing on  the   ground.      Footprints  of    Indian 

29 


I    .1 


i  •  1  ' 


i   ,:• 


M 


338 


THE  WILD   MAN   OF  THE  WEST. 


horses  —  four  of  them  —  going  in  the  direction 
of  his  dwelling! 

Dick  rose,  and  his  strong  brows  were  knitted, 
and  his  lips  firmly  pressed  together.  For  a 
moment  or  two  he  pondered,  then  he  told  his 
horse  to  follow  him,  and,  dropping  the  bridle, 
set  off  at  a  rapid  walk,  keeping  steadily  on  the 
tracks,  and  stooping  now  and  then  to  examine 
them  when  the  nature  of  the  ground  rendered 
them  less  discernible.  Thus  1^3  retraced  his 
course  for  about  a  mile,  when  he  stopped  and 
muttered,  "  No  doubt  o't.  Them  reptiles  niver 
comes  to  these  diggins  but  when  they  want  to 
pay  me  a  visit."  ^v 

As  he  said  this  he  remounted  his  horse  and  sat 
for  a  minute  or  two  undecided.  It  was  hard  to 
give  up  his  purpose ;  but  it  was  impossible  to 
leave  his  cavern  defenceless  with  Mary  in  it,  and 
the  certainty  that  savages  were  hunting  it  out. 
That  thought  settled  the  matter.  ie  shook  the 
reins,  and  back  they  flew  again  toward  the  cave, 
at  a  much  quicker  pace  than  they  had  hitherto 
maintained. 

The  result  was  that  Dick  gained  the  entrance 
of  his  ravine  just  two  hours  later  than  the  savages, 
and  in  time  to  superintenci,  personally,  the  hos- 
pitalities of  his  own  dwelling.  Riding  quicldy 
up  to  the  head  of  the  gorge,  he  dismounted  and 
ascended  the  pathway  to  his  cave  with  giant 
strides  and  a  beating  heart,  for  Dick  thought  of 


THE  INDIANS  MAKE  A   SUDDEN  EXIT.        339 


Mary,  and  the  words  "too  late"  would  whizz 
about  in  his  brain. 

The  Indians  were  still  sitting  round  the  fire 
enjoying  themselves,  when  March  and  Mary,  to 
their  unutterable  surprise,  beheld  Dick  stride 
through  the  low  doorway  of  the  cave,  raise  him- 
self to  his  full  height,  and  stand  before  the 
striclvcn  invaders,  absolutely  blazing  with  wrath. 
His  eyes,  his  hair,  his  beard,  his  glistening  teeth, 
seemed  each  individually  imbued  with  indigna- 
tion. 

The  Indians  did  not  move  —  they  could  not 
move  —  they  simply  sat  and  stared,  and  thus 
both  par+ies  continued  for  a  quarter  of  a  minute. 

Mary  used  that  short  time  well.  She  knew 
exactly  what  to  do.  Darting  into  her  chamber, 
she  seized  the  end  of  the  rope  connected  with  the 
tank'  and  pulled  it  violently.  March  saw  the 
rock  above  the  fireplace  drop !  A  clear,  spark- 
ling cataract  sprang  as  if  by  magic  from  the  wall ! 
Next  instant  there  was  black  darkness  and  yells, 
steam,  shrieks,  and  howls,  —  a  hissing,  hurling 
hubbub,  such  as  no  man  can  possibly  conceive 
of  unless  he  has  seen  and  heard  it!  We  will 
not,  therefore,  even  attempt  a  description. 

The  Indians  rushed  en  masse  to  the  doorway 
Death  in  the  jaws  of  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West 
was  infinitely  preferable  to  being  par-boiled  and 
suffocated;  but  the  Wild  Man  had  judiciously 
made  way  for  them.    They  gained  the  outer  cave, 


S-P 


:■'  V  ■ 


?% 


'JMm 


'?.  !  1. 


C'il 


40 


THE   WILD  MAN   OF  THE  WEST. 


and  sprang  down  the  pathway.  Dick  plied  the 
handle  of  the  shrieking-machine  with  the  second- 
ary object  in  view  of  relieving  liis  own  feelings! 
The  din  was  indescribable !  If  those  Indians  are 
not  lunatics  at  this  moment  they  must  be  dead, 
for  there  could  be  no  alternative  in  the  circum- 
stances. Certain  it  is,  they  vanished  like  smoke, 
and  Ihey  have  never  been  heard  of  since  —  from 
that  day  to  this! 

Really,  dear  reader,  if  it  were  not  that  we  are 
recounting  the  doings  of  a  Wild  Man, —  a  noto- 
riousl  v  eccentric  creature, — we  would  feel  it  neces- 
sary  to  impress  upon  you  that  such  scenes  as  we 
have  been  describing  are  not  characteristic  of  life 
in  the  Rocky  Mountains ;  nay,  more,  we  question 
whether  such  scenes  as  these  have  ever  been  wit- 
nessed or  enacted  in  those  regions  at  any  time,  with 
the  exception,  of  course,  of  the  present  occasion. 
But  it  must  be  carefully  borne  in  mind  that  we 
are  recounting  the  deeds  of  a  "  Wild  Man,"  and, 
although  the  aspect  of  outward  things  — the  gen- 
eral tone  and  cun'ent  of  manners,  and  customs, 
and  natural  phenomena  —  may  remain  exactly 
the  same  as  heretofore,  and  be  faithfully  described 
without  exaggeration  (as  we  maintam  they  are), 
yet  the  acts,  devices,  and  vagaries  of  such  a 
creature  as  a  Wild  Man  may,  indeed  must  neces- 
sarily, be  altogether  eccentric  and  unparalleled. 
We,  therefore,  pause  here  to  express  a  hope  that, 
whatever  credit  you  may  be  able  to  give  to  the 


MARCH  EXPRESSES  HIS  SURPRISE. 


341 


reported  deeds  of  this  hero,  you  will  not  withhold 
your  belief  in  the  fidelity  of  the  other  portions  of 
this  narrative. 

No  sooner,  then,  were  those  unwelcome  visitors 
ejected  than  Dick  returned  to  the  scene  of  devas- 
tation and  shouted,  "  Hallo !  Mary !  '* 

"  Safe,  all  safe,"  she  replied,  as,  with  the  as- 
sistance of  March  Marston,  she  pushed  the  plank 
across  the  chasm,  and  returned  to  the  centre  cave. 

"  Is  the  lad  Mai ch  safe  too?"  inquired  Dicl\, 
as  he  busied  himself  in  striking  a  light  with  flint 
and  steel. 

"All  right,"  answered  the  youth  for  himself, 
"but  horribly  battered,  an'  fit  to  yell  with  pain, 
not  to  mention  surprise.  Do  look  sharp  and  get 
the  fire  up.  Sich  doins'  as  this  I  never  did  see 
nor  hear  of  since  I  left  the  frontier.  I  do  declare 
it's  worthy  o'  the  Wild  M^n  o'  the  West  himself. 
What  d'ye  find  to  laugh  at,  Dick  ?  I'm  sure  if 
ye  had  my  miserable  bones  in  yer  body  at  this 
moment,  ye'd  laugh  wi'  your  mouth  screwed  the 
wrong  way.     Look  alive,  man  ! " 

"  Patience,  lad,  patience.  That's  one  o'  the 
vartues,  I  believe ;  leastwise  so  I  am  told  (ah,  it's 
caught  at  last.  Hand  me  that  dry  stuff"  on  the 
south  shelf,  Mary ;  ye  can  find  it  i'  the  dark,  1 
doubt  not)  ;  yes,  it's  a  vartue,  but  I  can't  boast 
o'  having  much  o't  myself.  I  dun  know  much 
about  it  from  'xperience ;  d'ye  see  ?  There,  now, 
we'll  git  things  put  to  rights,"  he  added,  apply- 


\, ;  ■ 


i%X^ 


.pf;' 


H; 


.'.;,(. 


342 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


ing  the  kindled  spark  to  some  dry  chips  and  pro- 
ducing a  flame,  with  which  he  ignited  a  pine 
knot,  and  stuck  it  blazing  in  a  cleft  in  the  roclv. 
"  Just  see  what  them  reptiles  ha'  done  to  me. 
If  it  wasn't  that  I'm  a  good-tempered  feller  I 
b'lieve  I'd  git  angry.  See,  March,  boy,  there's  a 
shelf  in  the  corner  that's  escaped  the  flood.  Lie 
ye  down  there  while  Mary  and,  me  puts  the  place 
in  order."  - 

"  I'd  rather  help  you,"  said  March,  dismally. 
"  I  don't  b'lieve  it  can  make  me  worse,  an',  per- 
haps, it'll  make  me  better.  I  wonder  what  in 
the  world  pain  was  made  for." 

"  Ye'U  only  be  in  our  way,  lad.  Lie  down," 
said  Dick,  seizing  a  large  broom  and  beginning 
to  sweep  away  the  water  and  ashes  and  pieces 
of  charcoal  with  which  the  floor  was  plentifully 
covered,  while  Mary  picked  up  the  scattered 
skins  and  furniture  of  the  cave,  and  placed  them 
on  the  ledge  of  rock,  about  four  feet  from  the 
ground,  which  Dick  termed  a  shelf. 

This  ledge  ran  all  round  the  apartment,  so 
March  selected  a  corner,  and,  throwing  a  dry 
skin  upon  it,  stretched  himself  thereon,  and  soon 
found  his  sufferings  relieved  to  such  an  extent 
that  he  began  to  question  his  host  as  to  his  sud 
den  and  unlooked-ior  return. 

"  How  came  ye  to  drop  in  upon  us  in  the  very 
nick  o'  time  like  that?  "  he  said,  gazing  languidly 
at   Mary,  who  bustled  about  with  the  activity 


march's  anxiety  for  his  friends.      343 


of  a  kitten,  or  —  to  use  an  expression  more  in 
keeping  with  the  surrounding  circumstances  —  a 
wild  kitten. 

Dick,  without  checking  his  broom,  told  how 
he  had  discovered  the  tracks  of  the  Indians,  and 
returned  at  once,  as  has  been  related. 

"  Then,"  sakl  March,  looking  anxiously  at  his 
host,  "  you'll  not  be  able  to  help  my  poor  com- 
rades and  the  people  at  the  Mountain  Fort." 

"  It  an*t  poss'ble  io  be  in  two  places  at  once, 
no  how  ye  can  fix  it,"  returned  Dick,  "  else  I'd 
ha'  been  there  as  well  as  here  in  the  course  of  a 
few  hours  more."         ;     ; 

"  But  should  we  not  start  off  at  once  —  now  ?  " 
cried  March,  eagerly,  throwing  his  legs  off  the 
ledge  and  coming  to  a  sitting  position. 

"  You  an't  able,"  replied  Dick,  quietly,  "  and  I 
won't  move  till  I  have  put  things  to  rights  here, 
an'  had  a  feed  an'  a  night's  rest.  If  it  would  do 
any  good,  I'd  start  this  minute.  But  the  fight's 
over  by  this  time  —  leastwise,  it'll  be  over  long 
afore  we  could  get  there  !  and  if  it's  not  to  be  a 
fight  at  all,  why  nobody's  none  the  worse,  d'ye 
see. 


.^ri 


» 


"  But  may-be  they  may  hold  the  place  for  a 
long  time,"  argued  March,  "  an'  the  sudden  ap- 
pearance of  ycu  and  me  njight  turn  the  scale  in 
then-  favor." 

"  So  it  might  —  so  it  might.  I've  thought  o' 
that,  and  we'll  start  to-morrow,  il  yer  able.    But 


111 


,M 


If 


344 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


it  would  be  o'  no  use  to-night.  My  good  horse 
can't  run  forever,  right  on  end,  without  meat 
and  rest." 

"  Then  we'll  start  to-morrow,"  cried  March, 
eagerly. 

"  Ay,  if  ye  can  mount  and  ride." 

"  That  I  have  no  fear  of;  but — but — "  at  that 
moment  March's  eye  encountered  Mary's — "but 
what  about  Mary  ?  " 

"  Oh !  she'll  stop  here  till  we  come  back.  No 
fear  o'  redskins  troublin'  her  again  for  some 
time,"  replied  Dick,  throwing  down  the  broom 
and  patting  the  girl's  head.  "  Come,  lass,  let's 
have  some  supper.  Show  March  what  a  capital 
cook  ye  are.  I'll  kindle  a  rousin'  fire  an'  spr^iad 
some  pine  branches  round  it  to  sit  on,  for  the 
floor  won't  be  quite  dry  for  some  time.  What 
red  reptiles,  to  be  sure  !  and  they  was  actually 
devourin'  my  poor  old  bay  horse.  What  can- 
nibals ! " 

In  the  course  of  an  hour  the  cavern  had  resumed 
its  former  appearance  of  comfort.  The  ruddy 
glare  of  the  fire  fell  warmly  on  +he  rocky  walls 
and  on  the  curling  smoke,  winch  found  egress 
through  the  hole  near  the  roof  that  let  in  light 
during  the  day.  Branches  were  spread  on  the 
floor,  so  as  to  form  a  thick  pile  near  the  fire,  and 
on  the  top  of  this  sat  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West 
with  the  most  amiable  of  smiles  on  his  large, 
handsome  countenance,  and  most  benignant  of 


MARY   THE   UUXTllESS. 


845 


expressions  beaming  in  his  clear  blue  eye,  as  he 
gazed  first  at  Mary,  who  sat  on  his  right  hand, 
then  at  March,  who  sat  on  his  left,  and  then  at 
the  iron  pot  which  sat  or  stood  betw'een  his 
kne^  s,  and  into  which  he  w^as  about  to  plunge  a 
large  wooden  ladle. 

"  There's  worse  things  than  buffalo-beef-bergoo, 
Marcli,  an't  there?  Ha,  ha!  my  lad,  tuck  that 
under  yer  belt,  it'll  put  the  sore  bones  right 
laL^uT  than  physic.  Mary,  my  little  pet  lamb, 
here's  a  maiTow-bone  ;  come,  yer  grow  in',  an'  ye 
can't  grow  right  if  ye  don't  eat  plenty  o'  meat 
and  marrow-bones  ;  there,"  he  said,  placing  the 
bone  in  question  on  her  pewter  plate.  "  Ah ! 
Marj^,  lass,  ye've  bin  mixin'  the  victuals.  Why, 
what  have  we  here  ?  " 

"  Moose  nose,"  replied  the  girl,  with  a  look  of 
pleasure. 

"  I  do  b'lieve  —  so  it  is !  why  where  got  ye  it  ? 
I  han't  killed  a  moose  for  three  weeks  an'  more." 

"  Me  kill  him  meself,"  said  Mary. 

"You!" 

"  Ay,  me  !  with  me  own  gun,  too  !  " 

"  Capital !  "  cried  Dick,  tossing  back  his  heavy 
locks,  and  gazing  at  the  child  with  proud  delight. 
"  Yer  a  most  fit  an'  proper  darter  for  the  Wild  — 
a  —  /fo.'"  sneezed  Dick,  wdth  sudden  violence, 
while  Mary  glanced  quickly  up  and  opened  her 
syrs  very  wide.  "Whisst — to — a — hah!  whew' 


I  ' 


1^ 


k.  ■■ 


4  i^  fftw  il 


'^\r 


346 


THE  WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


wol  a  tiokler !  I  raally  think  the  mountain  air*8 
a-goin'  to  make  me  subjick  to  catchin'  colds." 

March  took  no  notice  of  the  remark.  Hii^ 
attention  was  at  that  moment  divided  between 
Mary's  eyes  and  a  marrow-bone. 

There  is  no  accounting  for  \q  besotted  stupidity 
at  this  time  of  March  Marstr  n,  who  was  naturally 
r^uick-witted,  unless  upon  tiie  principle  that  prc- 
juoiie  renders  a  man  utterly  blind.  A  hundred 
glaring  and  obvious  facts,  incidents,  words,  and 
looks,  ought  to  have  enlightened  him  as  to  who 
his  new  friend  Dick  really  was.  But  his  miad 
was  so  thoroughly  imbued,  so  saturated,  with  the 
preconceived  notion  of  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West 
being  a  huge,  ferocious,  ugly  monster,  all  over 
red,  or  perhaps  blue,  hair,  from  the  eyes  to  the 
toes,  with  canine  teeth,  and,  very  probably,  a  tail, 
that  unintentional  hints  and  suggestive  facis  were 
totally  thrown  away  upon  him.  The  fact  is,  that 
if  Dick  had  at  that  moment  looked  him  full  in 
the  face  and  said,  "  Pm  the  Wild  Man  of  the 
West,"  March  would  have  said  he  didn't  be- 
lieve it! 

"  How  came  ye  by  the  iron  pot  ?  "  inquired 
March  suddenly,  as  the  sight  of  that  vessel  changed 
the  current  of  his  thoughts. 

Dick's  countenance  became  grave,  and  Mary's 
eyes  dropped. 

"  I'll  tell  ye  some  other  time,"  said  the  former 


CONVERSATION   IN   THE   CAVE. 


347 


quietly ;  "  not  now  —  not  now.  Come,  lad,  if  ye 
mean  to  mount  and  ride  wi'  me  to-morrow,  you'll 
ha'  to  eat  heartier  than  that." 

"I'm  doing  my  best.  Did  you  say  it  was 
you  that  shot  the  moose-deer,  Mary  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  was  me.  Me  go  out  to  kill  bird  for 
make  dinner,  two  day  back,  an'  see  the  moose  in 
one  place  where  hims  no  can  escape  but  by  one 
way —  narrow  way  —  tree  feets,  not  ^^ore,  wide. 
Hi  ins  look  to  me  —  me's  look  to  him.  '  >.en  me 
climb  up  side  of  rocks  so  hims  no  I.  '^ch  uie,  but 
must  pass  below  me  quite  near.  T-t  a  ae  yell  — 
horbuble  yell !  ("  Ha !  "  thought  March,  '^^  music, 
''weetest  music,  that  yell!")  an-  hi.  run  round 
in  great  fright !  ("  Oh,  the  blockhead,"  thought 
March)  —  but  see  hims  no  can  git  away,  so  hims 
rush  past  me  !  Me  shoot  in  back  of  hims  head, 
an'  him  drop." 

"  Huzza !  "  shouted  Dick,  in  such  a  bass  roar, 
that  March  involuntary  started.  "  Well  done, 
lass ;  ye'll  make  a  splendid  wife  to  a  bold  moun- 
taineer.'* 

March  could  not  believe  his  eyes,  while  he 
looked  at  the  modest  little  creature  who  thus 
coolly  related  the  way  in  which  she  slaughtered 
the  moose  ;  but  he  was  bound  to  believe  his  ears, 
foi  Mary  said  she  did  the  deed,  and  to  suppose  it 
possible  that  Mary  could  tell  a  falsehood  was,  in 
March's  opinion,  more  absurd  than  to  suppose 
that  the  bright  sun  could   change  itself   into 


!■    \ 


\i  ''m' 


348 


THD   WILD  MAN  OF  THE   WEST. 


melted  butter!  But  Dick's  enthusiastic  refer- 
ence  to  Mary  one  day  becoming  the  wife  of  a 
mountaineer  startled  him.  He  felt,  that  in  the 
event  of  such  a  calamitous  circumstance  happen- 
ing, she  could  no  longer  be  his  sister,  and  the 
thought  made  him  first  fierce,  and  then  sulky. 

"  D'ye  kill  many  mountain  sheep  here,  Dick?.' 
inquired  March,  when  his  ruflled  temper  had  bet  n 
smoothed  down  with  another  marrow-bone. 

"  Ay,  lots  of  'em." 

"What  like  are  they  close?  I've  never  been 
nearer  to  'em  yet  than  a  thousand  yards  or  so  — 
never  within  range."  ' 

"  They're  'bout  the  size  of  a  settlement  oheep, 
an'  skin  somethin'  like  the  red-deer ;  ye've  seen 
the  red-deer,  of  coorse,  March  ?  " 

"  Yes,  often  ;  shot  em  too." 

"  Well,  like  them  ;  but  they've  got  most  tree- 
mendous  horns.  I  shot  one  last  week  with  horns 
three  fut  six  inches  long ;  there  they  lie  now  in 
that  corner.     Are  ye  a  good  shot,  March  ?  " 

"  Middlin'." 

«  D'ye  smoke  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  little ;  but  I  an't  a  slave  to  it  like 


» 


some. 

*'  Humph  I "  ejaculated  Dick,  sarcastically.  "  If 
ye  smoke  *  a  little,'  how  d'ye  know  but  ye  may 
come  to  smoke  much,  an'  be  a  slave  to  it  Hive 
other  mei^?  Ye  may  run  down  a  steep  hill,  an' 
Bay,  when  yer  near  the  top,  *  I  can  stop  when  1 


MARCH   MARSTON   AND   DICK. 


349 


like ; '  but  ye*ll  come  to  a  pint,  lad,  when  yc'U 
try  to  stop  an'  find  ye  can't  —  when  ye'd  give  all  ye 
own  to  leave  ofi*  rnnnin',  but  ye'll  have  to  go  on 
faster  an'  faster  till  yer  carried  off  yer  legs,  and, 
mayhap,  dashed  to  bits  at  the  bottom.  Smokin' 
and  drinkin'  are  both  alike.  Ye  can  begin  when 
you  please,  an'  up  to  a  certain  pint,  ye  can  slop 
when  ye  please ;  but  after  that  pint,  ye  carCt 
slop  o'  yer  own  free  will  —  ye'd  die  first.  Many 
an'  many  a  poor  fellow  has  died  fust,  as  I  know.'* 

"  An'  pray.  Mister  Solomon,  do  yoii  smoke  ?  " 
inquired  March,  testily,  thinking  that  this  ques- 
tion would  reduce  his  companion  to  silence. 

"  No,  never." 

"  Not  smoke !  "  cried  March,  in  amazement. 
The  idea  of  a  trapper  not  smoking  was  to  him  a 
thorough  and  novel  incomprehensibility. 

"  No ;  nor  dr:*ik  neither,"  said  Dick.     "  I  once 

did  both,  before  I  came  to  this  part  o'  the  country, 

and  I  thank  the  Almighty  for  bringing  me  to  a 

place  where  it  warn't  easy  to  get  either  drink  or 

baccy  —  specially  drink,  which  I  believe  would 

have  laid  me  under  the  sod  long  ago,  if  I  had  bin 

left  in  a  place  where  I  could  ha'  got  it.    An'  now, 

arf  Mary  has  just  left  us,  poor  thing,  I'll  tell  ye 

how  I  came  by  the  big  iron  pot.     There's  no 

mysiery  abou""  it;  but  as  it  b'longed  to  the  poor 

child's  father,  I  didn't  want  to  speak   about  it 

before  her." 

Dick  placed  oxi  elbow  on  each  knee,  and,  rest- 
so 


^1 


■'  \ 


^^ 


M:     - 


:  .'H;i 


350 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


ing  his  forehead  upon  his  hands,  stared  for  some 
moments  into  the  fire  ere  he  again  spoke. 

"  It's  many  years  now,"  said  he,  in  a  low  sad 
tone,  "  since  I  left  home,  and  —  but  that's  nolliin' 
to  do  wi'  the  pint,"  he  added  quickly.  "  You 
see,  March,  when  I  first  came  to  this  part  o'  the 
world  I  fell  in  with  a  comrade  —  a  trapper — nmch 
to  my  likin'.  This  trapper  had  been  jilted  by 
some  girl,  and  came  away  in  a  passion,  detarmiiiin' 
never  more  to  return  to  his  native  place.  I  never 
know'd  where  he  come  from,  nor  the  partie'lars 
of  his  story,  for  that  was  a  pint  he  would  never 
speak  on.  I  don't  believe  I  ever  know'd  his  right 
name.  He  called  himself  Adam ;  that  was  ihc 
only  name  I  ever  know'd  him  by. 

"  Well,  him  an'  me  became  great  friends.  He 
lived  wi'  a  band  of  Pawnee  Injuns,  and  had  mar- 
ried a  wife  among  them  ;  not  that  she  was  a  pure 
Injun  neither,  she  was  a  half-breed.  My  Mary 
was  their  only  child ;  she  was  a  suckin'  babe  at 
that  time.  Adam  had  gin  her  no  name  when  we 
first  met,  an'  I  remember  him  askin'  me  one  day 
what  he  should  call  her;  so  I  advised  Mary  — 
an'  that's  how  she  come  to  git  the  name. 

"  Adam  an'  me  was  always  together.  We 
suited  each  other.  For  myself,  I  had  ta'en  a 
skunner  at  mankind,  an'  womankind  too  ;  so  we 
lived  wi'  the  Pawnees,  and  hunted  together,  an' 
slep'  together  when  out  on  the  tramp.  But 
one  o'  them  reptilies  took   a  spite  at  him,  an' 


^ied  b 

agin'  1 

murder 

"On 

being  t 
that  ni, 
our  ketl 
a  kind 
saddle-! 
just  be^ 


HISTORY   OF  THE  IRON  POT. 


351 


Med  by  every  way  he  could  to  raise  llie  Injuns 
agin'  him,  but  couldn't;  bo  he  deturmined  to 
murder  him. 

"  One  day  we  was  out  huntin'  together,  an' 
\mng  too  far  from  the  Pawnee  lodges  to  return 
ih;it  night,  we  encamped  in  the  wood,  an'  bikd 
our  kettle — this  iron  one  ye  see  here.  Adain  had 
a  kind  o'  likin'  for't,  and  always  carried  it  at  his 
siitidle-bow  when  he  went  out  o'  horseback.  We'd 
just  begun  supper,  when  up  comes  the  Wild-cat, 
as  he  was  called —  Adam's  enemy — an'  sits  down 
beside  us.  > 

"  Of  course,  we  could  not  say  we  thought  he  was 
up  to  mischief,  though  we  suspected  it,  so  we  gave 
him  his  supper,  an'  he  spent  the  night  with  us. 
Nixt  mornin'  he  bade  us  good  day,  an'  went  off. 
Then  Adam  said  he  would  go  an'  set  beaver-traps 
in  a  creek  about  a  mile  off.  Bein'  lazy  that  day, 
1  said  I'd  lie  a  bit  in  the  camp.  So  away  he 
went.  The  camp  was  on  a  hill.  I  could  see 
him  all  the  way,  and  soon  saw  him  in  the  water 
settin'  his  traps. 

"  Suddenly  I  seed  the  Wild-cat  step  out  o'  the 
bushos  with  a  bow  an'  arrow.  I  knew  what  was 
u)).  I  gave  a  roar  that  he  might  have  heard  ten 
n,  les  off,  an'  ran  toward  them.  But  an  arrow  was 
m  Adam's  back  before  he  could  git  to  the  shore. 
In  a  moment  more  he  had  the  Injun  by  the  throat, 
an'  the  tw^o  struggled  for  life,  Adam  could  ha' 
choked  him  easy,  but  the  arrow  in  hin  back  lei 


ii 


vl 


?:':P 


*li 


i 


I  ^  .1 


''^''1 


352 


THE  WILD   MAN   OF  THE  WEST. 


out  the  blood  fast,  an'  he  could  barely  hold  his 
own.  Yet  he  strove  like  a  true  man.  I  was  soon 
there,  for  I  nearly  burst  my  heart  in  that  race. 
They  were  on  the  edge  of  the  water.  The  "Wild- 
cat had  him  down,  and  was  tryin'  to  force  him 
over  the  banlc. 

"  I  had  my  big  sword  wi'  mo.  an'  hewed  the 
reptile's  head  oft*  with  it  at  one  blow,  sendin'  it 
into  the  river,  an'  tossin'  the  body  in  after  it. 

"  '  It's  too  late,'  says  Adam,  as  I  laid  him  softly 
on  the  bank. 

"  I  could  see  that.  The  head  of  the  shaft  was 
nearly  in  his  heart.  He  tried  to  speak,  but  could 
only  say,  '  Take  care  o'  my  wife  an'  Mary, — 
then  he  died,  and  I  buried  him  there." 

Dick  paused,  and  clenched  both  hands  convul- 
sively as  the  thought  of  that  black  day  came 
back  upon  him.  But  the  glare  in  his  eye  soon 
melted  into  a  look  of  sadness. 
^  "Well,  well,"  he  continued,  "it's  long  past 
now.  Why  should  I  be  angry  with  the  dead? 
Adam's  wife  never  got  the  better  o'  that.  She 
dropped  her  head  like  a  prairie  flower  in  the  first 
blast  of  winter,  an'  was  soon  beside  her  husband. 

"  I  waited  till  the  little  child  could  stump  about 
on  its  own  legs,  an'  then  I  jnounted  my  horse  an' 
rode  away  with  it  in  my  arms.  The  only  things 
be^ongin'  to  poor  Adam  I  brought  with  me  was 
the  iron  pot  an'  his  long  rifle.  There  the  rifle 
stands  in  the  corner.     I've  used  it  ever  since." 


MARI'S  BOOK. 


353 


"  And  have  you  and  Mary  lived  here  all  alone 
since  that  day  ?  " 

•  "  Ay.  I  came  straight  here  —  not  carin'  where 
J  went,  only  anxious  to  get  out  o'  the  sight  o' 
men,  an'  live  alone  wi'  the  child.  I  sought  out  a 
dvvellin'  in  the  wildest  part  o'  these  mountains, 
an'  fell  upon  this  cave  where  we've  lived  happy 
enough  together." 

"  Do  ye  mean  to  say  the  child  has  never  played 
with  other  children  ?  "  inquired  March,  amazed 
at  this  discovery. 

"  Not  much.  I  give  her  a  ran  for  a  monlh 
or  two  at  a  time,  now  an'  agin,  w  hen  I  fall  on  a 
friendly  set  o'  well-disposed  redskins — just  to  keep 
the  right  sort  o'  spirit  in  her,  and  comfort  her  a  bi^. 
But  she's  always  willin'  to  live  alone  wi'  me." 

"  Then  she's  never  learned  to  read  ?  "  said 
March,  sadly. 

"  That  has  she.  She's  got  one  book.  It's  a 
story  about  a  giant  an'  a  fairy,  an'  a  prince  an' 
princess.  Most  'xtraornar'  stuff.  I  got  it  from 
a  Blood  Injun,  who  said  he  picked  it  up  in  a  fron- 
tier settlement  where  the  people  had  all  been  mur- 
dered. When  we  had  no  thin'  better  to  do,  I  used 
to  teach  her  her  letters  out  o'  that  book,  an'  the 
moment  she  got  'em  off  she  seemed  to  pick  up 
the  words  I  dun'  know  how.  She's  awful  quick. 
She  knows  every  word  o'  that  story  by  heart. 
Ail'  she's  invented  heaps  o'  others  o'  the  most 

30* 


':lt 


' 


J)i^ 


Ij!* 


if 


354 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


amazin'  kind.  Fve  often  thought  o'  goin'  to  the 
settlements  to  git  her  some  books,  but " 

Dick  paused  abruptly,  and  a  dark  frown  settled 
on  his  features,  as  if  the  thoughts  of  civuized 
men  and  things  revived  unpleasant  memories. 

"  The  fact  is,  he  continued  somewhat  bit- 
terly, "  I've  been  a  hater  of  my  race.  You'd 
scarce  believe  it,  lad,  but  you  are  the  first  man 
I've  ever  told  all  this  to.  I  can't  tell  why  it  is 
that  I  feel  a  likin'  for  ye,  boy,  an'  a  desire  to  have 
ye  atop  with  me.  But  that  must  not  be.  I  had 
but  one  friend.  I  must  not  make  another  to 
have  him  murdered,  mayhap,  before  my  eyes. 
Yet,"  he  added,  in  a  gentle  tone,  taking  March's 
hand  in  his,  and  stroking  it,  "  I  feel  a  likin'  for 
ye,  boy,  that  makes  me  sad  to  think  o'  partin'." 

"  But  we  don't  need  to  part,  Dick,"  said 
March,  engerly.     "  I   like   you   too,  and   I  like 

your  style  of  life,  an' ."     He  was  going  to 

have  added  that  he  liked  Mary,  and  that  lie 
would  live  with  them  both  all  his  days,,  when 
the  little  cottage  at  Pine  Point  settlement  and  his 
loving  mother  rose  before  him,  and  caused  him  to 
drop  his  head  and  terminate  his  speech  abruptly. 

Just  then  Mary  reentered  the  cavern,  and  put 
an  end  to  the  conversation. 


MARCH   BREAKS  DOWN. 


355 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

MatcJi,  though  Willing  in  Spirit,  finds  his  Body  weak.  —  He  makes 
Mary  a  Present.  —  The  Trappers  set  out  to  search  for  their  Lost 
Comrade.  —  An  Unexpected  Meeting.  —  Big  Waller  waxes  Pug- 
nacious. —  News  of  March. — Dick  becomes  more  Mysterious  than 
ever.  —  A  Reckless  Proposal  and  a  Happy  Meeting. 

Next  morning  before  daybreak,  March  Marston 
attempted  to  set  out  for  the  Mountain  Fort  with 
Dick ;  but  he  was  so  thoroughly  knocked  up 
before  the  end  of  the  first  mile  ihat  he  had  to 
call  a  halt,  and  admit  that  he  could  not  think  of 
going  further.  This  was  just  what  Dick  wanted ; 
so  he  laughed,  told  him  to  go  back  and  take  care 
of  Mary,  and  he  would  advance  alone. 

March  returned,  very  much  humbled,  exces- 
sively pained  in  all  his  joints,  and  feeling  as  if 
he  had  reason  to  be  ashamed  of  himself. 

"  Oh !  you  com  back  ?  "  cried  Mary,  as  he 
entered  the  cavern  with  a  crest-fallen  air.  "  Me 
so  glad !  Me  know  very  well  you  was  no 
poss'ble  for  travel." 

Mary  was  perfectly  artless.  She  made  no 
attempt  whatever  to  conceal  her  satisfaction  at 
the  youth's   return,  so   he  felt  amazingly  com- 


ilJ: 


IM 


■J 


I 


[ 


i 


!.|- 


I     I 


■ 


I.  i 


356 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WIST. 


forted,  and  even  began  to  recover  his  self-esteem. 
"  Yes,  Mary,  I've  come  back,  'cause  I  can't 
go  forward.  It's  o'  no  use  tryin' ;  I'd  just  have 
knocked  up  on  the  way,  which  would  have  been 
awkward  for  Dick,  you  know,  as  well  as  for 
me.  Besides,  I  couldn't  fight  just  now  to  save 
my  life." 

"  Well,  you  is  right.  You  stop  here  an'  git 
strong  an'  well.  Me  tell  you  stories  HDout  Dirk, 
or  other  mans  if  you  likes.  We'll  have  no  fightin' 
to  do.  If  there  is,  me  take  care  of  you.  Me  can 
doos  a  littil  in  that  way." 

March  opened  his  eyes  vciy  vrUle  at  this,  and 
stared  at  the  pretty  little  vision  m  leather,  but 
there  was  no  smile  or  sly  winkle  on  her  coun- 
tenance. She  wad  looking  ^.i^ite  gravely  and 
sedately  into  the  iron  poi.;  which  she  happened  to 
be  sHr/!i>g  at  that  momen> . 

"Marv'  hr  said,  sitting  down  beside  her, 
"  Dick  ii'lh  Tuc  you  can  read." 

"  Yis,  me  can  read  littil.  But  me  only  got  one 
book."     She  sighed  slightly  as  she  said  this. 

"  Would  you  like  to  have  another  book  ?  " 

"  Oh  yis,  very  very  much.    Have  you  got  one  ? " 

"  Ay,  one ;  the  only  one  I  have  in  the  world, 
Mary ;  an'  you're  the  only  person  in  the  world  I'd 
give  it  to.  But  I'll  give  it  to  you,  'cause  you've 
no  chance  of  gettin'  one  like  it  here.  It's  a  Bible 
—  the  one  my  mother  gave  nie  when  I  left 
home." 


y 


-    '!? 


march's  present  to  mart. 


357 


March  pulled  the  little  volume  out  of  the  breast 
of  his  coat  as  he  spoke,  and  handed  it  to  the 
girl,  who  received  it  ?agerly,  and  looked  at  it 
with  mingled  feelings  of  awe  and  curiosity  for 
some  time  before  she  ventured  to  open  it. 

"  The  Bibil.  Dick  have  oflin  speak  to  me 
'bout  it,  an'  try  to  'member  some  of  it.  But  he 
no  can  'n\cmber  much.  He  tell  me  it  speak 
about  the  great  good  Spirit.  Injins  call  him 
Manitow." 

"  So  it  does,  Mary.  I'll  leave  it  with  you 
when  I  go  away.  You  say  Dick  couldn't  re- 
member much  of  it ;  neither  can  I,  Mary.  More 
shame  to  me,  for  many  an'  many  a  time  has  my 
poor  mother  tried  to  make  me  learn  it  oil  by 
heart." 

"  You  mother  ? "  repeated  Mary,  earnestly. 
"  Is  you  mother  livin'  ?  " 

'•  That  is  she.  At  least,  I  left  her  well  air 
hearty  in  Pine  Point  settlement  not  nany  weeks 


agone. 


V 


"  Me  wish  me  had  mother,"  sai(  Mary,  with  a 
sigh. 

March  gazed  at  the  sad  face  'f  his  fair  com- 
panion with  a  perplexed  yet  s, inpathetic  look. 
This  was  a  new  idea  to  him.  Never  having 
been  without  a  mother,  it  had  never  entered  into 
Ids  head  to  think  of  such  a  thing  as  wishing  for 
one. 

"  What  }  ou  mother  called  ? "  said  the  girl, 
looking  up  quickly. 


',  M 


■i-ilvJ 


358 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF   THE  WEST. 


"  Her  name  is  Mary." 

"  YisI  that  very  strange.     Call  same  as  me.'* 

"  Not  Very  strange,  after  all.  There  are  a  good 
number  of  Marys  in  the  world,"  replied  March, 
with  a  laugh.  "  See  here  is  her  name  on  the 
fly-leaf  of  the  Bible,  written  with  her  own  hand 
too :  *  To  my  dear  March,  from  his  loving 
mother,  Mary  Marston,  Pine  Point  settlement.' 
Isn't  it  a  good  round  hand  o'  write  ?  " 

"  Very  pritty,"  replied  Mary.  But  she  had 
now  begun  to  spell  out  the  words  of  the  book, 
which  had  at  last  fallen  into  her  hands,  and 
March  could  not  again  draw  her  into  general 
talk ;  so  he  was  fain  to  sit  down  and  help  her  to 
read  the  Bi;>le. 

Leaving  them  thus  occupied,  we  will  now 
return  to  the  trappers,  three  of  whom,  it  will  be 
remembered,  —  Bounce,  Redhand,  and  Gibault, 
—  had  reached  the  Mountain  Fort  and  given  the 
alarm.  Soon  afterwards  the  Indians  arrived 
there;  but  finding  every  thing  in  readiness  to 
give  them  a  warm  reception,  they  retired  at 
once,  preferring  to  wait  their  opportunity  rather 
than  have  a  fair  stand-up  fight  with  the  white 
men.  About  an  hour  after  they  had  retired,  Big 
WaUer,  Hawkswing,  and  the  artist,  came  tear- 
ing toward  the  fort,  and  were  at  once  admitted. 

They  had  nothing  new  to  tell.  They  had  met 
together  by  accident,  as  the  others  had  done,  on 
neariiig  the  fort,  and  wjuid  have  been  in  sooner, 


march's  comrades. 


359 


had  not  Big  Waller  been  obliged  to  take  charge 
of  poor  Bertram,  who,  owing  to  the  suddenness 
and  violence  of  all  these  recent  events  in  savage 
life,  had  got  into  a  muddled  condition  of  mind 
that  rendered  him  peculiarly  helpless.  But  they 
knew  nothing  of  March  Marston  —  they  had 
expected  to  find  him  there  before  them. 

As  March  was  well  mounted,  and  known  to 
be  well  qualified  to  take  care  of  himself,  his  non- 
arrival  threw  his  friends  into  a  state  of  the  ut- 
most anxiety  and  suspense.  They  waited  a 
couple  of  hours,  in  order  to  give  him  a  chance 
of  coming  in,  hoping  that  he  might  have  merely 
been  detained  by  some  triHiu^f  accident,  such  as 
having  lost  his  w^ay  for  a  time.  But  when,  at 
the  end  of  Ihat  period,  there  was  still  no  sign  of 
him,  they  gave  up  all  hope  of  his  arriving,  and 
at  once  set  out  to  sweep  the  whole  country  round 


in  search  of  him. 


vowmg  m 


their  hearts   that 


they  would  never  return  to  Pine  Point  settlement 
without  him  if  he  were  alive. 

McLeod  tried  to  persuade  them  to  remain  at 
the  fort  for  a  few  days,  but,  feeling  sympathy 
with  them,  he  soon  ceased  to  press  the  matter. 
As  for  the  wretched  chief  of  the  fort,  Macgregor, 
—  the  excitement  of  the  recent  transactions  being 
over,  —  he  had  returned  to  his  bosom  friend,  and 
bitterest  enemy,  the  bottle,  and  was  at  that  time 
lying  in  a  state  of  drivelling  idiotcy  in  his  pri- 
vate chamber. 


'  . 


1  'W  ' 


360 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF   THE   WEST. 


A  few  days  after  quitting  the  fort,  Bounce  and 
Gibaultjwho  chanced  to  be  riding  considerably 
in  advance  of  their  companions,  halted  on  the 
top  of  a  ridge  and  began  to  scan  the  country 
before  them.  In  the  midst  of  their  observations, 
Bounce  broke  the  silence  with  a  grunt. 

"  Fat  now  ?  "  inquired  his  companion. 

"  What  now  ? "  replied  Bounce,  contemptu- 
ously.    "  Use  yer  eyes  now :  d'ye  see  nothin'  ?  " 

"  Non,  no  ting." 

"  That  comes  o*  the  want  of  obsarvation 
now,"  said  Bounce,  in  a  grave,  reproachful  tone. 
"  Ye  shouldn't  ought  to  be  so  light-headed,  lid. 
If  ye  was  left  to  yer  lone  in  them  sort  o'  places, 
ye'd  soon  lose  yer  scalp.  It's  obsarvation  as  does 
it  all,  an'  in  yer  partikler  case,  it's  the  want  o' 
that  same  as  doesn't  do  it,  d'ye  see  ?  " 

"  Non  vraiment,  me  shockable  blind  dis  day ; 
mais,  p'raps,  git  more  cllver  de  morrow,"  replied 
the  good-humored  Canadian,  with  a  gri.^.  "  Fat 
you  see  ?  " 

"  I  see  fatprints,"  replied  Bounce,  dismounting ; 
"  an'  as  futprints  implies  feet,  an'  feet  indicates 
critterrf,  human  or  otherwise,  it  becomes  men  wot 
be  looldn'  for  a  lost  comrade  to  examine  'em  with 
more  nor  ornary  care." 

"  Hah ! "  shouted  Gibault,  with  unwonted  en- 
ergy. Look!  voila!  behold!  Bounce,  you  hab 
great  want  of  *  obsarvation.'     See !  " 

Now  it  chanced  that,  while  B.  unce  was  on  his 


march's  comrades  and  the  wild  man.  361 


knees,  carefully  turning  over  every  leaf  and  blade 
of  grass,  his  comrade,  who  remained  on  horse- 
back, and  kept  gazing  at  the  horizon,  without 
any  particular  object  in  view,  did  suddenly  be- 
hold an  object  coming  towards  them  at  full 
gallop.  Hence  the  sudden  outburst,  and  the 
succeeding  exclamation  from  Bounce  —  "  It's  a 
hoss!" 

"  A  hoss  !  "  repeated  Gibault.  "  Him  be  one 
buffalo  ;    I  see  hims  bump." 

"  The  bump  that  ye  see  is  neither  more  nor 
less  than  a  man  leanin'  forard  —  it  is." 

iVt  this  moment  the  rest  of  the  party  rode  up, 
and  Redhand  confirmed  Bounce's  opinion. 

"  There's  only  one,  I  guess,  an'  he's  in  a  pow- 
erful hurry,"  observed  Big  Waller.  "  But  we 
may  as  well  be  ready  to  lix  his  flint  if  he  means 
to  cut  up  rough." 

He  brought  forward  his  gun  as  he  spoke,  and 
examined  the  priming. 

"  I  b'lieve  he's  an  evil  spirit,  I  do,"  said 
Bounce ;  "  wot  a  pace  !  " 

"  More  like  to  de  Wild  Man  of  de  Vest,"  ob- 
served Gibault. 

"  Think  you  so  ?  "  whispered  Bertram  in  an 
anxious  tone,  with  an  involuntary  motion  of  his 
hand  to  the  pouch,  in  which  lay  that  marvellous 
sketch-book  of  his. 

"Think  it's  him?"  said  Redhand  to  Hawks- 
wing. 

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362 


THE  WILD   MAN   OF   THE   WEST. 


The  Indian  gave  a  slight  grunt  of  apsent. 

But  the  strange  horseman  soon  put  all  doubt 
on  the  point  at  rest  by  bearing  down  upon  them 
like  a  whirlwind,  his  long  hair,  and  tags,  and 
scalp-locks,  streaming  in  the  wind,  as  usual. 
Dick  had  a  distinct  purpose  in  thus  acting.  He 
wished  to  terrify  men,  or,  at  least,  to  impress 
them  with  a  wholesome  dread  of  hun,  in  order 
that  he  might  simply  be  lei  alone  ! 

He  did  not  check  his  slashing  pace  until  within 
four  or  five  bounds  of  the  party.  Reining  up  so 
violently  that  he  tore  up  the  turf  for  a  couple  of 
yards  under  his  horse's  heels,  he  looked  at  the 
trappers  with  a  grave,  almost  fierce  expression, 
for  a  second  or  two. 

"  You  come  from  the  Mountain  Fort  ?  "  he 
said. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Redhand. 

«  All  right  there  ?  " 

"  All  risrht.  The  redskins  threatened  an  at- 
tack,  but  we  were  too  quick  for  'em." 

A  gleam  of  satisfaction  passed  across  Dick's 
face,  as  he  added,  '*  You've  lost  a  conurade ;  han't 
ye?" 

"  We  jist  have,"  cried  Big  Waller,  in  surprise. 
"  If  you've  seed  him,  I  guess  ye'd  as  well  take 
us  to  his  whereabouts." 

"  See  you  yonder  pine  ?  "  said  Dick,  pointing 
back  in  the  direction  whence  he  had  come. 
"  One  day's  journey  beyond  that,  as  the  crow 


march's  comrades  and  the  wild  man.  363 


flies,  will  bring  ye  to  a*  valley,  level  and  weU 
watered,  with  plenty  o'  beaver  in  it.  You'll  find 
him  there." 

Without  waiting  a  reply  Dick  turned  to  ride 
away.     . 

"  I  say,  stranger,"  cried  Waller  (Dick  paused), 
"  air  you,  or  air  you  not,  the  Wild  Man  o'  the 
West?"      ' 

"  Wild  fools  of  the  West  call  me  so,"  replied 
Dick,  with  a  ferocious  frown,  that  went  far  to 
corroborate  the  propriety  of  the  cognomen  in  the 
opuiion  of  the  trappers. 

"  Wall,  I  tell  'ce  wot  it  is,  stranger,  Wild  Man 
or  not,  I  guess  you'll  ha'  to  take  us  to  our  com- 
rade yourself,  for  I'm  inclined  to  opine  that  you 
know  more  about  him  Ihan's  good  for  ye;  so  if 
ye  try  to  ride  olf,  I'll  see  whether  a  ball  —  sixteen 
to  the  pound  —  '11  stop  ye,  for  all  yer  bigness." 

A  grim  smile  curled  Dick's  moustache,  as  he 
replied,  "  If  ye  think  Ihat  a  trapper's  word  an't 
to  be  trusted,  or  that  committin'  murder  '11  do 
yer  comrade  a  service,  here's  your  chance  —  fire 
away ! " 

Dick  wheeled  about  and  cantered  coolly  away 
into  the  thickest  part  of  the  forest,  leaving  the 
trappers  gazing  at  each  otiier  in  amazement. 
Berirairi  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Oil  I  why  did  you  not  delay  him  a  few  sec- 
onds longer  ?  See,  I  have  him  here  —  all  but  the 
legs  of  his  splehdid  charger." 


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364 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


The  others  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  If  ye've  got  the  body  all  c'rect,  it's  easy  to 
calculate  the  legs  by  the  rules  o'  proportion,  d'ye 
see  ?  "  observed  Bounce. 

"  Come,  lads,  that's  good  news  about  March, 
anyhow,"  cried  Redhand ;  "an'  I'm  of  opinion 
that  the  Wild  Man  o'  the  "West  an't  just  so  wild 
as  people  think.  I,  for  one,  will  trust  him. 
There's  somethin'  about  the  corner  of  a  man's 
eye  that  tells  pretty  plain  whether  he's  false  or 
true.  Depend  on't  we  shall  find  March  where  he 
told  us,  so  the  sooner  we  set  off  the  better." 

Without  waiting  for  a  reply,  Redhand  urged 
his  horse  into  a  gallop,  and,  followed  by  his  com- 
rades, made  for  the  valley  indicated  by  the  Wild 
Man. 

Meanwhile,  the  Wild  Man  himself  was  al- 
ready far  ahead  of  them,  keeping  out  of  sight 
among  the  woods,  and  galloping  nearly  in  the 
same  direction,  —  for  his  cave  lay  not  more  than 
four  miles  from  the  valley  in  question.  Being 
much  better  mounted  than  they,  he  soon  left  the 
tjrappers  far  behind  him,  and  when  night  closed 
in  he  continued  his  journey,  instead  of  halting 
to  eat  and  take  a  few  hours'  rest,  as  they  did. 
The  consequence  was,  that  he  reached  his  cave 
several  hours  before  the  trappers  arrived  at  the 
valley,  where  they  expected  to  find  their  missing 
comrade. 

Of  course  March  was  filled  with  surprise  at  this 


MARCH   MARSTON  AND   DICK. 


365 


second  unexpected  return  of  Dick ;  but  the  latter 
relieved  his  mind  by  explaining,  in  an  off-hand 
way,  that  he  had  met  a  man  who  had  told  him  the 
Mountain  Fort  was  all  safe,  and  that  his  comrades 
also  were  safe,  and  wandering  about  in  that  part 
of  the  country  in  search  of  him.  After  a  good 
deal  of  desultory  conversation,  Dick  turned  to  his 
guest  with  a  sad,  serious  air,  and,  fixing  his  large 
blue  eyes  on  him,  said,  — 

"  March,  lad,  you  an'  me  must  part  soon." 

"  Part ! "  exclaimed  the  youth  in  surprise, 
glancing  at  Mary,  who  sat  opposite  to  him,  em- 
broidering a  pair  of  mocassins. 

"  Ay,  we  must  part.  You'll  be  well  enough  in 
a  day  or  two  to  travel  about  with  yer  comrades-, 
Now,  lad,  I  want  ye  to  understand  me.  I' /e 
lived  here,  off  and  on,  for  the  last  fourteen  or 
fifteen  years  —  it  may  be  more,  it  may  be  less;  I 
don't  well  remember  —  an'  I've  niver  suffered 
men  to  interfere  wi'  me.  I  don't  want  them,  an' 
they  don't  want  me," 

He  paused.  There  was  a  slight  dash  of  bitter- 
ness in  the  lone  in  which  the  last  words  were 
uttered ;  but  it  was  gone  when  he  resumed,  in 
his  usual  low  and  musical  voice, — 

"  Now,  although  I  chose  to  bring  you  to  my 
cave,  because  I  found  ye  a'most  in  a  dyin'  state, 
an'  have  let  ye  into  one  or  two  o'  my  secrets,  — 
because  I  couldn't  help  it,  seein'  that  I  couldn't 
stop  up  yer  eyes  an'  yer  ears,  —  yet  I  don't  choose 

81* 


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S66 


THE  WILD  Man  of  the  west. 


to  let  yer  comrades  know  any  thing  about  me. 
They've  no  right  to,  an'  you  have  no  right  to  tell 
'em  ;  so,  when  ye  meet  'em  again  ye  mustn't  talk 
about  me  or  my  cave,  d'ye  see  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  March,  who  was  both  sur- 
prised and  annoyed  by  this  speech, "  certainly  you 
have  a  perfect  right  to  command  me  to  hold  my 
tongue ;  and,  seein'  that  you've  bin  so  kind  to  me, 
Dick,  I'm  in  duty  bound  to  obey ;  but  how  can 
you  ask  me  to  put  myself  in  such  an  awkward 
fix  ?  You  don't  suppose  I  can  make  my  com- 
rades believe  I've  bin  livin'  on  air  or  grass  for 
some  day»  past,  an'  they'll  see,  easy  enough,  that 
I've  not  bin  in  a  condition  to  help  myself.  Be- 
sides, whatever  your  notions  may  be  about  truth, 
mine  are  of  such  a  sort  that  they  won't  let  me 
tell  a  parcel  o'  lies  to  please  anybody." 

"  Far  be  it  from  me,  boy,  to  ask  ye  to  tell  lies. 
You  can  tell  yer  comrades  that  you've  bin  took 
care  of  by  a  trapper  as  lives  in  a  cave  among  the 
mountains ;  but  you  don't  need  to  tell  'em  where 
the  cave  is ;  an'  if  they  worry  ye  to  guide  'em  to 
it,  ye  can  refuse.  Moreover,  jist  speak  o'  me  in 
an  off-hand,  careless  sort  o'  way,  d'ye  see,  an'  be 
particular  not  to  tell  what  I'm  like,  'cause  it 
might  make  'em  take  a  fancy  to  hunt  me  up." 

There  appeared  to  be  a  dash  of  vanity  in  the 
latter  part  of  this  remark,  which  surprised  March 
not  a  little;  for  it  seemed  to  him  quite  incon- 
sistent with  the  stout  hunter's  wonted  modesty 
of  demeanor  and  speech. 


TALK  ABOUT  PARTING. 


367 


"  Well,  Vm  bound  to  think  oi\\y  o'  your  wishes 
in  this  matter,"  replied  March,  in  a  disappointed 
tone,  "  an'  I'll  do  my  best  to  prevent  my  com- 
rades interfering  with  ye,  tho',  to  say  truth,  I 
don't  think  you  need  be  so  cautious,  for  they  ain't 
over-curious — none  of 'em.  But — "  here  March 
paused  and  glanced  at  Mary,  who,  he  observed, 
had  drooped  her  head  very  much  during  the  con- 
versation, and  from  whose  eye  at  that  moment  a 
bright  tear  fell,  like  a  diamond,  on  the  work  with 
which  she  was  engaged. 

"  But  —  am  I  —  the  fact  is,  Dick,  I  feel  a  little 
sore  that  you  should  say  ye  had  a  likin'  for  me, 
an'  then  tell  me  I  must  be  off,  an'  never  look  near 
ye  again." 

"  That's  wot  I  never  did  say,  boy,"  returned 
Dick,  smiling.  "  Ye  may  come  alone  to  see  me 
as  often  as  ye  like,  while  ye  remain  in  these  parts. 
An'  if  it  please  ye,  yer  at  liberty  to  come  an'  live 
wi'  me.  There's  room  in  the  mountains  for  both 
of  us.     The  cave  can  hold  three  if  need  be." 

March  Marston's  heart  beat  quick.  He  was 
on  the  eve  of  forming  a  great  resolve !  His  bosom 
heaved,  and  his  eye  sparkled,  as  he  was  about  to 
close  hastily  with  this  proposal,  when,  again,  the 
memory  of  his  mother  crossed  him,  and  a  deep 
sigh  burst  from  his  lips,  as  he  shook  his  head,  and 
said,  sorrowfully,  "  It  can't  be  done,  Dick>  I 
can't  forsake  my  mother." 
"  No  more  ye  should,  lad,  no  more  ye  should." 


■  !(• 


'J-'IJ 


/■'Ji 


368 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


said  Dick,  nodding  approvingly,  "but  there^a 
nothin'  jto  prevent  your  spendin'  the  winter  and 
spring  here,  an'  returnin'  to  yer  mother  next 
summer." 

"  Done ! "  cried  March,  springing  up  as  well 
as  h*  ?  bruised  muscles  would  permit  him,  and 
seizing  his  friend  enthusiastically  by  the  hand, 
"  I'll  stop  with  you  and  send  home  word  by  my 
comrades  that  I'll  be  bac'^  in  summer.  That's 
capital ! " 

Mary  seemed  to  be  quite  of  the  same  opinion, 
for  she  looked  quickly  up  with  a  beaming  smile. 

"  Well,  so  it  is  a  good  plan,"  said  Dick,  some- 
what gravely ;  "  but  don't  act  in  haste,  else  ye 
may  ha'  to  repent  at  leisure.  Go  an'  speak  to 
yer  comrades,  see  what  they  advise  ye  to  do,  an' 
come  again  an'  let  me  know.  And,  now  we're 
on  that  pint,  I  may  tell  ye  that  yer  friends  will 
be  at  the  head  of  a  valley  not  four  miles  from 
here  this  very  night,  an'  they  expect  ye  there." 

"  How  d'ye  know  that  ?  "  cried  March,  breath- 
less with  amazement. 

«  Well,  ye  see,  the  Wild  Man  o'  the  West 
knows  that  you're  in  them  parts ;  he  has  seed 
you  an'  knows  where  ye  are,  an'  he  met  yer 
comrades,  the  trappers,  no  later  than  yesterday, 
an'  told  'em  they'd  find  ye  in  the  valley  I  spoke 
of  just  now ;  so  we  must  be  up  an'  away  tc 
meet  'em." 

Dick  rose  as  he  spoke  and  began  to  make  prep- 
aration to  depart 


ARRIVAL  OF  MARCH'S  COMRALES. 


369 


"  But  how  came  you  to  know  this  ?  "  inqiiired 
the  astonished  youth. 

"  Why,  the  Wild  Man  an*  me's  oncommon 
intimate,  d'ye  see.  In  fact,  I  may  say  we're  jist 
inseparable  companions,  and  so  I  come  to  know 
it  that  way.  But  make  haste.  We've  no  time 
to  lose. 

"  Good-by,  Mary,"  cried  March  with  a  che  r- 
ful  smile,  as  he  hurried  out  of  the  cave  after  his 
eccentric  companion.  "  I'll  be  back  before  long, 
depend  on't." 

Mary  nodded,  and  the  two  men  were  soon 
mounted  and  out  of  sight. 

"  I  say,  Dick,"  observed  March,  as  they  rode 
along,  "  you  must  get  me  to  see  the  Wild  Man 
of  the  West ;  if  you're  so  intimate  with  him,  you 
can  easily  bring  him  into  the  cave ;  now  wonH 
you,  Dick  ?  " 

"  Well,  as  I  can't  help  doin'  it,  I  s'pose  I  may 
say  yes,  at  once." 

"  Can't  help  it,  Dick !  What  mean  you  ?  I 
wish  ye'd  tall»  sense."  x 

"  Hist ! "  exclaimed  the  hunter,  puUing  up 
suddenly,  under  the  shelter  of  a  cliff.  "  Yonder 
come  yer  friends,  sooner  than  I  expected.  I'll 
leave  ye  here.  They've  not  seed  us  yit,  an'  that 
wood'U  hide  me  till  I  git  away.  Now,  March,  • 
he  added,  solemnly,  "  remember  yer  promise.^^ 

In  another  moment  the  wild  hunter  was  gone, 
and  March  rode  forward  to  meet  his  old  comrades, 


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870 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


who,  having  now  caught  sight  of  him,  came  up 
the  valley  at  full  speed,  shouting  and  wa\ing 
their  caps  joyfully  as  they  approached.  In  a 
shorter  space  of  time  than  it  takes  to  tellj  March 
was  surrounded,  dragged  off  his  horse,  passed 
from  one  to  another,  to  be  handled  roughly,  in 
order  to  make  sure  that  it  was  really  himself,  and, 
finally,  was  swallowed  up  by  Bounce  in  a  mas- 
culine embrace  that  might  almost  have  passed 
for  the  hug  of  a  grisly  bear. 


BOUNCE  OBAOULAR. 


371 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

March  Marston  is  perplexed,  so  are  hJs  Friends.  —  An  unlooked-for 
Meeting.  —  Terrible  News.  —  The  Attack.  —  The  Wild  Man  of 
the  West  once  again  renders  signal  Service  to  the  Trappers.— 
Wild  Doings  in  general,  and  March  Marston's  Chagrin  in  par- 
ticular. 

«  March  Marston,"  said  Bounce — and  Bounce 
was  sitting  beside  the  camp-fire,  smoking  his  pipe 
after  supper  when  he  said  it  —  "  you  may  think 
ye're  a  'cute  feller,  you  may,  oncommon  'cute ; 
but  if  you'll  listen  to  what  an  oldish  hunter  says, 
an'  take  his  advice,  you'll  come  to  think,  in  a 
feelosophical  way,  d'ye  see,  that  you're  not  quite 
so  'cute  as  ye  suppose." 

Bounce  delivered  this  oracularly,  and  followed 
it  up  with  a  succession  of  puffs,  each  of  which 
was  so  solidly  yellow  as  to  suggest  to  the  mind  of 
Bertram,  who  chanced  to  be  taking  his  portrail 
at  that  moment,  that  the  next  pufF  would  burst 
out  in  pure  flame.  Gibault  and  Big  Wallei 
nodded  their  heads  in  testimony  of  their  approval 
of  the  general  scope  of  the  remark ;  the  latter 
even  went  the  length  of  "  guessing  that  it  was  a 
fact,"  and  Redhand  smiled.  Hawkswing  looked, 
if  possible,  graver  than  usual. 


■ 


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372 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


"  As,"  resumed  Bounce,  after  a  considerable 
pause,  during  which  March  looked  and  felt  very 
uncomfortable,  "  the  nat'ral  eyes  of  old  men  be- 
comes more  dimmer,  d^ye  see  ?  their  mental 
eyes,  so  to  speak,  becomes  sharper,  so  as  that 
they  can  see  through  no  end  o'  figurative  mill- 
stoneii.  That  bein'  the  case  when  there's  no 
millstone  to  be  seen  through  at  all,  but  only  a 
oncommon  thin  trans— ^ trans — 


» 


"  OUification  suggested  Waller,  modestly. 

"  Not  at  all,'*  retorted  Bounce,  with  much 
severity  in  his  tone.  "  I  wos  goin'  to  have  said 
—  transparientsy ;  but  I'll  not  say  that  now, 
seein'  it's  too  feelosophical  for  the  likes  o'  you ; 
but,  as  I  wos  sayin',  that  bein'  the  case,  dy'e  see  ? 
it's  quite  plain  that " 

Here,  Bounce  having  got  into  depths  unusuany 
profound,  even  for  his  speculative  and  philosoph- 
ical turn  of  mind,  sought  refuge  in  a  series  of 
voluminous  puffs,  and  wound  up,  finally,  with  an 
emphatic  asseition  that  "there  wos  somethin' 
wrong,  an'  it  wos  o'  no  manner  o'  use  to  try  to 
throw  dust  in  his  eyes,  seein'  that  his  winkin' 
powers  was  sich  as  to  enable  him  to  keep  it  out, 
no  matter  how  thick  or  fast  it  should  come." 

**  Ah,  that's  yer  sort !  I  calculate  you're  floored 
there,  March,"  said  Waller,  gravely.  "  The  fact 
is,  boy,  that  it  won't  do ;  you've  got  somethin' 
in  the  background  that  Mr.  Bertram  talks  sich  a 
heap  about.  You  ought  to  be  fair  an'  above- 
board  with  comrades,  ye  ought" 


MARCH  MAHSTON  PEBPLEXED. 


373 


<*  Oru,"  added  Gibault.  "  Of  course,  you  have 
live  somewhere,  an'  somehow,  all  dis  time.  It 
am  not  posseeble  for  live  nowhere  on  noting.'* 

"  Well,  I  tell  you  I  have  lived  with  a  hunter, 
who  treated  me  very  well,  and  told  me  Fd  find 
you  here ;  having  learned  that,  as  I  understand, 
from  the  Wild  Man  o'  the  West  himself." 

"  Very  true,"  said  Bounce ;  "  but  where  does 
the  hunter  live  ?  " 

"  In  the  mountains,"  replied  March. 

"  So  does  the  Blackfeet  an'  the  Peigans  an'  the 
Crows,  an'  the  foxes  an'  wolves  an'  grisly  bars," 
retorted  Bounce,  drily. 

"  I'll  tell  ye  what  it  is,"  cried  the  exasperated 
March ;  "  the  curiosity  of  you  fellers  beats  the 
squaws  out  an'  out.  Now,  I'll  be  open  with 
ye,  an'  then  ye  must  hold  yer  tongues.  This 
man  that  I've  been  stayin'  with  is  a  very  fine 
fellow,  an'  a  very  wonderful  fellow,  an'  his  name's 
Dick- 


»» 


"  Dick  what  ?  "  inquired  Bounce. 

"  Dick  nothing,"  said  March. 

"  Ay !  that's  a  odd  name." 

"  No,  I  mean  he's  only  called  Dick,  an'  he 
wouldn't  tell  me  his  other  name  if  he  has  one. 
Well,  he  said  to  me  I  was  not  to  tell  where  he 
lived,  as  he  don't  like  company,  an'  so  he  made 
me  promise,  an'  I  did  promise,  d*ye  see;  so  1 
mean  to  stick  to  my  promise,  and  that's  all  about 
it,    I  would  like  to  teU  ye  about  him,  comrades, 

82 


'1:* 


S74 


THB  WILD  MAN  OF  THB  WEST. 


but  you  wouldn^t  have  me  break  my  word,  would 
you  ?  " 

"  Cer'nly  not,  by  no  means,"  said  Bounce. 
"  Does  he  live  all  by  his  lone  ?  " 

"  No — eh — ah !  Well,  I  fancy  it's  not  break- 
in'  my  word  to  tell  ye  that  —  no,  he's  got  a  little 
gal,  an  adopted  daughter,  livin'  with  him." 

"  Is  she  good  lookin'  ? "  inquired  Bounce, 
quickly,  with  a  sharp  glance  at  the  youth. 

March  looked  a  little  confused,  and,  in  a  hesi- 
tating manner,  admitted  that  she  was. 

*'  Ah!  I  thought  so,"  observed  Bounce,  gravely, 
shaking  his  head  and  looking  unutterably  pro- 
found, while  Gibault  gave  a  low  whistle  and 
winked  to  Big  Waller,  who  returned  the  mystic 
signal  with  the  addition  of  a  knowing  nod,  all 
of  which  movements  were  observed  by  poor 
March,  who  became  very  red  in  the  face,  and  felt 
very  angry  and  remarkably  uncomfortable,  and 
quite  unable  to  decide  whether  it  was  better  to 
laugh  or  storm.  He  was  saved  from  all  further 
perplexity  on  this  point,  however,  by  the  sudden 
appearance  of  a  horseman  on  the  distant  plain, 
who  seemed  to  be  approaching  the  valley  in 
which  they  were  encamped.  At  first,  he  looked 
like  a  black  speck  or  a  crow  on  the  horizon,  and, 
in  the  uncertain  light  of  the  rapidly  closing  day, 
it  would  have  been  difficult  for  any  unaccus- 
tomed eye  to  make  out  what  the  object  was. 

In  a  short  time  he  drew  near  enough  to  be  dis- 


AS  UNLOCKED  FOR  MEETING. 


375 


tinguished  clearly,  and  the  rapid  patter  of  the 
horse's  hoofs  on  the  turf  told  that  the  rider  was 
flying  over  the  ground  at  unusual  speed.  Pass- 
ing round  a  clump  of  low  trees  that  stretched 
out  from  the  mouth  of  the  valley  into  the  plain, 
he  came  dashing  toward  the  camp  —  a  wild- 
looking,  dishevelled  creature,  seemingly  in  a  state 
of  reckless  insanity. 

"  The  Wild  Man  again,  surely,"  said  Bounce, 
who,  with  his  companions,  had  risen  to  await  the 
coming  up  of  the  stranger. 

"D'you  think  so?"  cried  March  Marston, 
eagerly. 

"Ye  —  eh!  why,  I  do  b'lieve  it's  Mr.  Mac- 
gregor,"  cried  the  astonished  Bounce,  as  the 
recldess  rider  dashed  up  to  the  camp-fire,  and, 
springing  from  his  horse,  with  a  yell  that  savored 
more  of  a  savage  than  a  civilized  spirit,  cried  — 

**  Look  out,  lads ;  up  with  a  pile  o'  rocks  an' 
trees!  They'll  be  on  us  in  a  jiffy!  There's  five 
hundred  o'  the  red  reptiles  if  there's  one.  The 
Mountain  Fort's  burned  to  cinders — every  man 
and  woman  dead  and  scalped  —  look  alive ! " 

These  words  were  uttered  hastily,  in  broken 
exclamations,  as  Macgregor  seized  the  logs  that 
had  been  cut  for  fire-wood,  and  began  violently 
to  toss  them  together  in  a  pile ;  while  the  trap- 
pers, although  much  amazed  and  horrified  at  the 
news,  seized  their  hatchets  and  began  to  make 
instant  preparation  to  resist  an  attack,  without 


Mi 


i. 


\ 


V  1 


^  1'  / 


'  -^li. 


376 


THE   WILD  MAN   OF  THE  WEST. 


wasting  time  in  useless  questions.  They  ob- 
served that  the  commander  of  the  Mountain 
Fort  was  pale  as  death,  that  his  eyes  were  blood- 
shot, his  clothes  torn,  and  his  hands  and  face 
begrimed  with  powder  and  stained  with  blood. 

March  Marston  worked  like  a  hero  at  the  rude 
breastwork  for  some  time,  although  the  effort 
caused  him  so  much  pain  that  he  could  not  help 
showing  it  in  his  countenance. 

"  March,"  said  Bounce,  seizing  him  suddenly 
by  the  shoulder,  "you're  not  fit  to  work,  an' 
much  less  fit  to  fight.  I'll  tell  ye  wot  to  do,  lad. 
Jump  on  my  horse,  an'  away  to  yer  friend  the 
trapper,  an'  bring  him  here  to  help  us.  One 
stout  arm  '11  do  more  good  this  night  than  ten 
battered  bodies  sich  as  yours,  poor  feller." 

March  felt  the  truth  of  this,  so  without  delay, 
turned  to  obey.  Just  as  he  was  about  to  leave 
he  heard  a  deep  groan,  and  turning  round,  saw 
Macgregor  fall  to  the  ground. 

"  You're  ill,"  he  cried,  running  to  him  and 
kneeling  down. 

"  No  —  not  ill,  just  a  scratch  firom  an  arrow," 
gasped  the  trader,  with  an  oath.  "  I  believe  the 
head's  stickin'  in  my  back." 

"  Away,  March,"  cried  Redhand,  "  we'll  look 
to  this.  Waller,  out  wi'  the  fire,  man ;  ye  used 
to  be  more  spry  when  —  ah !  too  late,  there  they 
are,  they've  seen  us." 

**  Into  the  fort,  boys,"  cried  Bounce,  alluding  to 


THE   ATTACK   ON   THE  FORT. 


377 


the  breastwork,  "  we  don't  need  to  care ;  with 
plenty  o'  powder  and  lead  we  can  keep  five  thou- 
sand redskins  off."  , 

March  heard  no  more.  Dashing  up  the  glen  at 
full  speed,  he  disappeared  from  the  spot,  just  as 
the  distant  yell  of  the  savage  hoL '  came  floating 
upon  the  wings  of  the  night  air,  apprising  the 
trappers  that  their  fire  had  been  observed,  and 
that  they  would  have  to  fight  manfully  if  they 
hoped  to  carry  their  scalps  home  with  them. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  Indians  drew  near,  and 
scattering  themselves  round  the  little  entrench- 
ment, began  to  discharge  clouds  of  arrows  at  it, 
but,  fortunately,  without  doing  any  damage.  An 
inaccessible  cliff  protected  their  rear,  and  behind 
a  projection  of  this  the  trappers'  horses  were  se- 
cured.   The  breastwork-»lay  immediately  in  front. 

Again  and  again  the  savages  let  fly  their  shafts, 
but  without  drawing  any  reply  from  the  trappers, 
who  kept  close  under  cover,  and  reserved  their 
fire.  This  tempted  their  enemies  to  approach, 
and,  when  within  short  range,  they  seemed  about 
to  make  a  rush,  supposing,  no  doubt,  that  the 
party  concealed  behind  the  breastwork  must  be 
Indians,  since  they  did  not  use  fire-arms.  Just 
then  Redhand  gave  a  preconcerted  signal ;  three 
sheets  of  flame  spouted,  from  their  guns,  and 
three  of  the  foremost  Indians  fell  dead  from  theii 
horses. 
With  a  terrible  yell  the  others  turned  to  fly 

82* 


u 


:••  ! 


378 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


but  before  they  had  retreated  a  yard  three  more 
shots  were  fired  with  deadly  effect.  They  now 
took  shelter  behind  trees  and  rocks,  and  attempted 
to  dislodge  the  trappe  ?  by  discharging  arrows 
into  the  air  at  such  an  angle  that  they  should 
drop  into  their  fortress.  One  or  two  endeav- 
ored to  ascend  the  steep  cliff,  but  the  instant 
an  arm  or  shoulder  appeared,  a  ball  from  Red- 
hand's  deadly  rifle  struck  it,  so  the  attempt  was 
abandoned. 

While  this  was  going  on,  March  Marston  gal- 
loped to  Dick's  cave,  and  startled  poor  Mary  not 
a  little  by  ihe  abruptness  of  his  entrance.  But, 
to  his  mortification,  Dick  was  not  at  home.  It 
so  chanced  that  that  wild  individual  had  taken  it 
into  his  head  to  remain  concealed  in  the  woods 
near  the  spot  where  he  bad  parted  from  his  late 
guest,  and  had  not  only  witnessed  the  meeting  of 
March  with  his  friends,  but  had  seen  the  arrival 
of  Macgregor,  the  subsequent  departure  of  March 
in  the  direction  of  the  cave,  and  the  attack  made 
by  the  Indians.  When,  therefore,  the  youth  was 
speeding  toward  his  cavern,  the  Wild  Man  (who 
was  not  sorry  to  see  him  go  off  on  such  an 
errand),  was  busily  planning  the  best  mode  of 
attacking  the  enemy  so  as  to  render  effectual  aid 
to  the  trappers.  ^ 

Observing  that  the  Indians  had  clustered 
together  at  the  foot  of  a  rugged  cliff,  appa- 
rently for  the  purpose  of  holding  a  council  of 


TIMELY   AID   OF  THE  WILD   MAN. 


379 


war,  Dick  made  his  way  quickly  to  the  summit  of 
the  cliff,  and,  leaving  his  charger  on  an  eminence 
that  sloped  down  toward  the  entrance  of  the 
valley,  quickly  and  noiselessly  carried  several  huge 
stones  to  the  edge  of  the  precipice,  intending  to 
tlirow  them  down  on  the  heads  of  his  foes.  Just 
as  he  was  about  to  do  so,  he  observed  an  over- 
hanging mass  of  rock,  many  ^ons  in  weight,  which 
the  frosts  of  winter  had  detached  from  the  preci- 
pice. Placing  his  feet  against  this,  and  leaning 
his  back  against  the  solid  rock,  he  exerted  himself 
with  all  his  might,  like  a  second  Samson.  No 
human  power  could  have  moved  such  a  rock,  had 
it  not  been  almost  overbalanced  ;  but,  being  so, 
Dick's  effort  moved  it.  Again  he  strained,  until 
the  great  veins  seemed  about  to  burst  through 
the  skin  of  his  neck  and  forehead.  Gradually 
the  rock  toppled  and  fell,  and  the  Wild  Man  fell 
alonff  with  it. 

In  the  agony  of  that  moment  he  uttered  a  cry 
so  terrible  that  it  might  well  have  been  supposed 
to  have  come  from  the  throat  of  a  supernatural 
being.  The  Indians  had  not  time  to  evade  the 
danger.  The  ponderous  mass  in  its  descent  hit 
a  projecting  crag,  and  burst  into  smaller  frag- 
ments, which  fell  in  a  rattling  shower,  killing  two 
men,  and  wounding  others.  Those  of  the  group 
who  escaped,  as  well  as  those  who  chanced  to  be 
beyond  the  danger,  saw,  by  the  dim  moonlight, 
the  Wild  Man  of  the  West  descending,  as  it  were 


v;.w;l) 


380 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


like  a  furious  demon  in  the  midst  of  the  dire  con« 
fusion  of  dust  and  rocks.  They  knew  him  well. 
It  wanted  but  this  to  fill  them  to  overflow  with 
superstitous  dread.  They  turned  and  fled.  The 
trappers,  although  amazed  beyond  measure,  and 
half  suspecting  who  it  was  that  had  thus  suddenly 
come  to  their  aid,  mounted  their  horses,  and, 
leaping  over  their  barricade,  rushed  down  the 
valley  in  pursuit,  firing  a  volley  at  starting,  and 
loading  as  they  rode  at  full  speed.  In  his  descent 
Dick  made  what  might  well  be  termed  a  mirac- 
ulous escape.  Near  the  foot  of  the  cliff"  he  went 
crashing  through  a  thick  bush,  which  broke  his 
fall.  Still  he  retained  impetus  sufficient  to  have 
seriously  injured  if  not  killed  him,  had  he  not 
alighted  in  the  midst  of  another  bush  which 
saved  him  so  completely  that  he  was  not  even 
hurt 

Dick  could  scarcely  believe  his  own  senses ;  but 
he  was  not  a  man  given  to  indulge  much  wan- 
dering thought  in  times  of  action.  Giving  him- 
self one  shake,  to  make  sure  of  his  being  actually 
sound  in  wind  and  limb,  he  bounded  away  up  the 
precipice  by  a  path  with  which  he  was  well 
acquainted,  reached  his  horse,  flew  by  a  short 
cut  to  the  mouth  of  the  valley,  and,  w^heeUng 
suddenly  round,  met  the  horrified  Indians  in  the 
very  teeth ! 

The  roar  with  which  he  met  them  was  com 
pound  in  its  nature,  and  altogether  hideous !    His 


FLIGHT  OF  THE  INDIANS. 


381 


mind  was  in  a  mingled  condition  of  amazement 
and  satisfaction  at  his  escape,  triumph  at  the 
success  of  his  plan,  and  indignation  at  the  cow- 
ardly wickedness  of  the  savages.  A  rollicking 
species  of  mad  pugnacity  took  possession  of  him, 
and  the  consequence  was,  that  the  sounds  which 
issued  from  his  leathern  throat  were  positively 
inhuman. 

The  rushing  mass  of  terror-stricken  men,  thus 
caught,  as  it  were,  between  two  fires,  divided,  in 
order  to  escape  him.  Dick  was  not  sorry  to 
observe  this.  He  felt  that  the  day  was  gained 
without  further  bloodshed.  He  knew  that  the 
superstitious  dread  in  which  he  was  held  was  a 
guarantee  that  the  savages  would  not  return ;  so, 
instead  of  turning  with  the  trappers  to  join  in  the 
pursuit,  he  favored  them  with  a  concluding  and  a 
peculiarly  monstrous  howl,  and  then  rode  quietly 
away  by  a  circuitous  route  to  his  own  cavern. 

Thus  he  avoided  March  Marston,  who  on  find- 
ing that  his  friend  Dick  was  out,  had  returned  at 
full  speed  to  aid  his  comrades,  and  arrived  just 
in  time  to  meet  them  returning,  triumphant  and 
panting,  from  their  pursuit  of  the  foe ! 

"  Are  they  gone  ?  "  cried  March  in  amazement. 

"  Ay,  right  slick  away  into  the  middle  o'  no 
whar,"  replied  Big  Waller,  laughing  heartily. 
"  Did  ye  iver  hear  such  a  roarer,  comrades  ?  " 

"  Have  you  licked  'em  out  an'  out  ?  "  continued 
Ihe  incredulous  March. 


■  ■  i 


882 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


I 


.-•» 


"  Ay,  out  an'  out,  an'  no  mistake,"  replied 
Bounce,  dismounting. 

"  Well,  that  is  lucky,"  said  March ;  "  for  my 
friend  Dick  I  found  was  not  — 


» 


"  Ah !  we  not  have  need  him,"  interrupted 
Gibault,  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  fore- 
head, "  de  Wild  Man  of  de  West  hims  come,  an' 
—  oh !  you  should  see  what  hims  have  bin  do ! " 

"  The  Wild  Man  again  ?  "  exclaimed  March  in 
dismay  —  "an'  me  absent!" 

Gibault  nodded  and  laughed. 

At  that  moment  an  exclamation  from  Redhand 
attracted  the  attention  of  the  whole  party.  He 
was  kneeling  beside  Macgregor,  who  had  dis- 
mounted and  lain  down. 

"  I  believe  they've  done  for  me,"  said  the  fur- 
trader  faintly.  "  That  arrow  must  have  gone 
deeper  than  I  thought." 

"  You'd  better  let  me  see  the  wound,  sir,"  said 
Redhand,  "  your  shirt  is  covered  with  blood." 

"No,  no,"  said  the  wounded  man,  savagely; 
"let  me  rest  —  see,  I'm  better  now.  You  wiD 
find  a  flask  in  the  bag  at  my  saddle-bow.  Bring 
it  here." 

"  I  know  that  Dick — the  hunter — is  a  good 
hand  at  doctoring,"  said  March.  "  What  a  pity 
he  is  not  her.*.     We  might  carry  you  there,  sir." 

"  Carrj  me,"  laughed  the  fur-trader  fiercely ; 
"  no,  I'll  never  be  carried  till  I'm  carried  to  my 
grave.  How  far  off"  is  his  place  ?  Where  stays 
he?" 


MACGBEGOB   WOUNDED. 


383 


**  Four  miles  from  this.  I'll  take  you  if  you 
can  ride,"  said  March. 

"  Ay,  that  I  can,  bravely,"  cried  the  trader, 
who,  having  tal^en  a  deep  draught  of  spirits, 
seemed  to  be  imbued  with  new  life.  "  Come, 
young  sir,  mount." 

The  trappers  endeavored  to  dissuade  the  vio- 
lent man  from  the  attempt,  but  he  could  not  be 
controlled ;  so  March,  hastily  observing  that  he 
would  see  him  safe  to  the  hunter's  abode  and 
return  without  delay,  mounted  his  horse  and  rode 
away,  followed  by  the  wounded  man. 


M 


1^^ 


$ 

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i  i!ii; 


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1 .  ;v' 
jl ;  ■ 


Im 


3S4 


THE  WILD  MAN  OP  THE  WEST. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 


The  Wounded  Fur-Trader. 


"When  they  reached  the  entrance  to  the  cavern, 
March  and  his  companion  dismounted ;  but  the 
latter  was  so  weak  from  loss  of  blood  that  he 
stumbled  at  the  foot  of  the  track,  and  fell  to  the 
earth  insensible. 

March  ran  hastily  in  for  assistance,  and  was 
not  a  little  surprised  to  find  Dick  sitting  alone 
by  the  side  of  the  fire,  and  so  absorbed  in  the 
perusal  of  a  little  book  that  he  had  not  noticed 
his  entrance — a  very  singular  and  unaccountable 
piece  of  absence  of  mind  in  one  so  well  trained 
in  the  watchful  ways  of  the  backwoods. 

"  Ho !  Dick  ! "  cried  the  youth. 

"  What,  March  —  March  Marston ! "  exclaimed 
the  Wild  Man,  springing  up,  seizing  him  by  the 
shoulders,  and  gazing  intently  into  his  face,  as  if 
to  assure  himself  that  he  was  not  dreaming. 

"  Ay,  no  doubt  I'm  March  Marston ;  though 
how  you  came  to  find  out  my  name  I  don't 
know  — 


» 


"  Easy  enough  that,  lad,  when  you  leave  your 
mother's  Bible  behind  ye,"  cried  Dick,  with  a 
wild  laugh.  "  She  must  be  a  good  mother  that 
o'  yours.     Is  she  alive  yet,*  boy  ?  " 


THE   WILD   MAN*S   CAVE. 


"  That  is  she,  an'  well,  I  trust 


3R6 


M 


"  An'  your  father,"  interrupted  Dick ;  "  how's 
he,  lad,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  March,  fro  vning ;  "  he 
forsook  us  fourteen  years  agone ;  but  its  little 
good  talking  o'  such  matters  now,  when  there's 
a  poor  fellow  dyin'  outside." 

«  Dyin'  ?  " 

"  Ay,  so  it  seems  to  me.  I've  brought  him  to 
see  if  ye  can  stop  the  bleedin',  but  he's  fainted, 
and  I  can't  lift " 

Dick  waited  for  no  more,  but,  hastening  out, 
raised  McGregor  in  his  arms,  and  carried  him 
into  the  inner  cave,  where  Mary  was  lying  sound 
asleep  on  her  lowly  couch. 

"  Come,  Mary,  lass,  make  way  for  this  poor 
feller." 

The  child  leaped  up,  and,  throwing  a  deer-skin 
round  her,  stepped  aside  to  allow  the  wounded 
man  to  be  placed  on  her  bed.  Her  eye  imme- 
diately fell  on  March,  who  stood  in  the  entrance, 
and  she  ran  to  him  in  surprise. 

"  What's  de  matter,  March  ?  " 

"  Hush,  Mary,"  said  Dick,  in  a  low  voice ; 
"we'll  have  to  speak  soft.  Poor  Macgregor 
won't  be  long  for  this  world,  I'm  affeared.  Fetch 
me  the  box  o'  things." 

"  You  know  him,  then  ?  "  whispered  March,  in 
surprise. 

"  Ay,  I've  often  bin  to  the  Mountain  Fort  and 

88 


i 


III' 


imvi 


\    ■ 

r: 


■;  1 


tj'i} 


i 

■i 


I 


m 


V  :l  I 


w; 


lis 


m 


'm 


n86 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


fieed  him  there.  See,  he's  comin'  to.  Put  that 
torch  more  behind  me,  lad.  It'll  be  better  foi 
him  not  to  see  me." 

As  he  spoke  the  wounded  man  sighed  faintly. 
Opening  his  eyes,  he  said,  "  Where  am  I  ?  " 

"  Speak  to  him,"  whispered  Dick,  looking  over 
nis  shoulder  at  March,  who  advanced,  and,  kneel- 
ing at  the  side  of  the  couch,  said : 

"  You're  all  right,  Mr.  Macgregor.  I've  brought 
you  to  1  he  hunter's  home.  He'll  dress  your  wound 
and  take  care  of  you ;  so  make  your  mind  easy. 
But  you'll  have  to  keep  quiet.  You've  lost  much 
blood." 

The  fur-trader  turned  round  and  seemed  to 
fall  asleep,  while  Dick  bound  his  wounds,  and 
then,  leaving  him  to  rest,  he  and  March  returned 
to  the  other  cave. 

During  that  night  Dick  seemed  in  an  unac- 
countably excited  state.  Sometimes  he  sat  down 
by  the  fire  and  talked  with  March,  in  an  absent 
manner,  on  all  lands  of  subjects — his  adventnr.^s, 
his  intentions,  his  home  at  Pine  Point;  but  frjin 
his  looks  it  seemed  as  if  his  thoughts  were  othir- 
wise  engaged,  and  occasionally  he  started  up  and 
paced  the  floor  hurriedly,  while  his  brows  dark 
ened  and  his  broad  chest  heaved  as  thou^^h  he 
were  struggling  with  some  powerful  feeling  or 
passion.  ^ 

"  Could  it  be,"  thought  March,  "  that  there 
was  some  mysterious  connection  between    Dick 


THE   WILD   man's   CAVE. 


387 


and  the  wounded  fur-trader?"  Not  beii  g  able 
to  find  a  satisfactory  reply  to  the  thought,  he 
finally  dismissed  it,  and  turned  his  attentiongi 
altogether  toward  Mary,  whose  looks  of  sur- 
prise and  concern  showed  that  she,  too,  wa3 
puzzled  by  the  behavior  of  her  adopted  father. 

During  that  night  and  all  the  next  day  the 
wounded  man  grew  rapidly  worse,  and  March 
stayed  with  him,  partly  because  he  felt  a  strong 
interest  in  and  pity  for  hitn,  and  partly  because 
he  did  not  hke  to  leave  to  Mary  the  duty  of 
watching  a  dying  man. 

Dick  went  out  during  the  day  in  the  same 
excited  state,  and  did  not  return  till  late  in  the 
evening.  During  his  absence,  the  dying  man's 
mind  wandered  frequently,  and,  in  order  to  check 
this  as  well  as  to  comfort  him,  March  read  to  him 
from  his  mother's  Bible.  At  times  he  seemed  to 
listen  intently  to  the  words  that  fell  from  March's 
lips,  but  more  frequently  he  lay  in  a  state  appa- 
rently of  stupor. 

"  Boy,"  said  he,  starting  suddenly  out  of  one 
of  those  heavy  slumbers,  "  what's  the  use  of  read- 
ing the  Bible  to  me  ?  I'm  not  a  Christian,  an' 
it's  too  late  now  —  too  late !  " 

"  The  Bible  tells  me  that  *  now  is  God's  time. 
I  forget  where  the  words  are,  an'  I  can't  find 
'em,"  said  March  earnestly ;  "  but  I  know  they're 
in  Ihis  book.  Besides,  don't  you  remember  the 
thief  who  was  saved  when  he  hung  on  the  cross 
in  a  dyin'  state  ?  " 


1:1 


m 


\-\m 


,iM: 


m 


388 


TUE  WILD  MAN  OF  THB  WEST. 


The  fur-trader  shook  his  head  slowly,  and  stil 
muttered,  "  Too  late,  too  late." 

March  now  became  deeply  anxious  about  tho 
dying  man,  who  seemed  to  him  like  one  sinking 
in  the  sea,  yet  refusing  to  grasp  the  rope  that  wius 
flung  to  him.  He  turned  over  the  sacred  pagc.i 
hurriedly  to  find  appropriate  texts,  and  blamed 
himself  again  and  again  for  not  having  made 
himself  better  acquainted  with  the  Word  of 
God.  He  also  repeated  all  he  could  think  of 
from  memory ;  but  still  the  dying  man  shook 
his  head  and  muttered,  "  Too  late."  Suddenly 
March  bent  over  him  and  said : 

"  Christ  is  able  to  save  to  the  uttermost  all 
who  come  unto  God  through  Him." 

The  I'ur-trader  looked  up  in  silence  for  a  few 
seconds.  "  Ay,"  said  he,  "  many  a  time  have  I 
heard  the  old  minister  at  Pine  Point  say  tliat." 

"  Pine  Point !  "  exclaimed  March,  in  surprise. 

"  Perhaps  they're  true,  after  all,"  continued 
Macgregor,  not  noticing  the  interruption.  "  Oh 
Mary,  Mary !  surely  I  did  the  uttermost  when  I 
forsook  ye.  Let  me  see  the  words,  boy ;  are  they 
there  ?  " 

A  strange  suspicion  flashed  suddenly  on  the 
mind  of  March  as  he  listened  to  these  words. 
and  he  trembled  violently  as  he  handed  him  the 
book. 

"  What — what's  this  ?  Where  got  ye  my  wife's 
Bible?    You  must"  (he  added  between  bisteetl), 


macgregor's  death. 


889 


in  a  sudden  burst  of  anger)  have  murdered  my 
boy." 

'*  Father ! '  exclaimed  March,  seizing  Mac- 
gregor's hand. 

Tlie  dying  man  started  up  with  a  countenance 
of  ashy  paleness,  and,  leaning  on  one  elbow, 
g;ized  earnestly  into  the  youth's  face  —  "  March! 
ciui  it  be  my  boy?"' — he  fell  back  with  a  heavy 
groan.  The  bandages  had  been  loosened  by  the 
exertion,  and  blood  was  pouring  freely  from  his 
wound.  The  case  admitted  of  no  delay.  March 
hurriedly  attempted  to  stop  the  flow  of  the  vital 
stream,  assisted  by  Mary,  who  had  been  sitting 
at  the  foot  of  the  couch  bathed  in  tears  during 
the  foregoing  scene. 

Just  then  Dick  returned,  and,  seeing  how  mat- 
ters stood,  quickly  stanched  the  wound ;  but  his 
aid  came  too  late.  Macgregor,  or  rather  Obadiah 
Marston,  opened  his  eyes  but  once  after  that, 
and  seemed  as  if  he  wished  to  speak.  March 
bent  down  quickly  and  put  his  ear  close  to  his 
mouth ;  there  was  a  faint  whisper,  "  God  bless 
you,  March,  my  son,"  and  then  all  was  still. 

March  gazed  long  and  breathlessly  at  the  dead 
countenance ;  then,  looking  slowly  up  in  Dick's 
face,  he  said,  pointing  to  the  dead  man,  "  My 
father ! "  and  fell  insensible  on  the  couch  beside 
him. 

We  will  pass  over  the  first  few  days  thut  suc- 
ceeded the  event  just  narrated,  during   which 

33* 


if 


p. 


■  1/1 


'{'ll 


J  ■;   r 


'if': 

■V.'.'i' 

4 


■S! 


390 


TUE   WILD   MAN   OF   TUE  WEST. 


March  Marston  went  about  the  wild  region  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  cave  like  one  in  a  dream.  It 
may  be  imagined  with  what  surprise  the  trappers 
learned  from  him  the  near  relationship  that  ex- 
isted between  himself  and  the  fur-trader.  1'hey 
felt  and  expressed  the  deepest  sympathy  with 
their  young  comrade,  and  offered  to  accompany 
him  when  he  laid  his  father  in  the  grave.  But 
Dick  had  fu*mly  refused  to  allow  the  youth  to 
bring  the  trappers  near  his  abode,  so  they  fore- 
bore  to  press  him,  and  the  last  sad  rites  were 
performed  by  himself  and  Dick  alone.  The 
grave  was  made  in  the  centre  of  a  little  greun 
vale  which  lay  like  an  emerald  in  the  heart  of 
that  rocky  wilderness ;  and  a  little  wooden  cros^s, 
with  the  name  and  date  cut  thereon  by  March, 
was  erected  at  the  head  of  the  low  mound  to 
mark  the  fur-trader's  last  lonely  resting-plice. 
March  Marston  had  never  known  his  father  in 
earl3'^  life,  having  been  an  infant  when  he  deserted 
his  family ;  and  the  little  that  he  had  seen  of  him 
at  the  Mountain  Fort,  and  amid  the  wild  scenes 
cf  the  Rocky  Mountains,  had  not  made  a  favor- 
able impression  on  him.  But,  now  that  he  wiii 
gone,  the  natural  instinct  of  affection  arose 
wiihiti  his  breast.  He  called  to  remembrance 
the  last  few  and  sad  hours  which  he  had  spent 
by  his  parent's  dying  bed.  He  thought  of  their 
last  lew  words  on  the  momentous  concerns  of 
the  snul,  and  of  the   eagerness  with  which,  at 


LOUIS   THE   TRAPPER. 


39] 


times,  the  dying  man  listened  to  the  life-giving 
Word  of  God ;  and  the  tear  of  sorrow  that  fell 
upon  the  grave  as  he  turned  to  quit  that  solitary 
spot,  was  mingled  with  a  tear  of  joy  and  thank- 
fulness that  God  had  brought  him  there  to  pour 
words  of  comfort  and  hope  into  his  father's  dying 
ear.  ■       . 

That  night  he  spent  in  the  cave  with  Dick ; 
he  felt  indisposed  to  join  his  old  comrades  just 
then.  The  grave  tenderness  of  his  eccentric 
friend,  and  the  sympathy  of  little  Mary  were 
more  co.  genial  to  him. 

*'  March,"  said  Dick,  in  a  low  sad  tone,  as  they 
sat  beside  the  fire,  "  that  funeral  reminds  me  o' 
my  friend  I  told  ye  of  once.  It's  a  lonesome 
grave  his,  with  nought  but  a  v.ooden  cross  to 
mark  it." 

"  Had  you  known  him  long,  Dick  ?  " 

"  No,  not  long.  He  left  the  setlleirient  in  a 
huff — bein',  I  b'lieve,  crossed  in  love,  as  I  told 

ye." 

Dick  paused,  and  clasping  both  hands  over  his 
knee,  gazed  with  a  look  of  mingled  sternness  and 
sorrow  at  the  glowing  fire. 

"Did  ye  ever,"  he  resumed,  abru})lly,  "hear  o' 
a  feller  called  Louis,  who  once  lived  at  Pine 
Point  —  before  ye  was  born,  lad;  did  ye  ever 
hear  yer  mother  speak  of  him?" 

"Louis?  Yes  —  well;  I  believe  I  do  think 
I've  heard  the  name  before.     Oh,  yes !     People 


■Ir'l 


392 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF   THE   WEST. 


used  to  say  he  was  fond  o'  my  mother  when  she 
was  a  girl ;  but  I  never  heard  her  speak  of  him. 
Now  ye  mention  it,  I  remember  the  only  time  I 
ever  asked  her  about  it,  she  burst  into  tears  and 
told  me  never  to  speak  of  him  again.  Thadwick 
was  his  name  —  Louis  Thadwick ;  but  he  was 
better  known  as  Louis  the  Trapper.  But  he's 
almost  forgotten  at  the  settlement  now,  it's  so 
long  ago.  Every  one  thinlts  him  dead.  Why 
d'ye  ask?" 

"  Think  he's  dead  ? "  repeated  Dick,  slowly. 
"  An'  why  not?  My  poor  friend  that  was  killed 
when  he  left  his  native  place  swore  he'd  never  go 
back,  an'  no  more  he  did  —  no  more  he  did; 
though  he  little  thought  that  death  would  step  in 
BO  soon  to  make  him  keep  his  word." 

"  Was  Louis  your  friend  who  died?"  inquired 
March,  with  much  interest  and  not  a  little  pity ; 
for  he  observed  that  his  companion  v/as  deeply 
affected. 

Dick  did  not  reply.  His  thoughts  seemed  to 
be  wandering  again,  so  March  forebore  to  inter- 
rupt him,  and,  turning  to  Mary,  said  in  a  more 
cheerful  tone :  — 

"  Whether  would  ye  like  to  go  to  Pine  Point 
settlement  and  stay  with  my  mother,  or  that  I 
should  conie  here  and  spend  the  winter  with  you 
and  Dick  ?  " 

Mary  looked  puzzled,  and  after  some  moments' 
consideration  replied,  "  Me  don't  know."     Then, 


MARCH   AND   TLE   WILD   MAN. 


39a 


looking  up  quickly,  she  added,  "  Which  you 
like?" 

"  Indeed,  I  must  make  the  eame  reply,  Mary, 
—  'I  don't  know.'  But,  as  I  can't  expnct  my 
friend  Dick  to  give  up  his  wild  life,  I  suppose  I 
must  make  up  my  mind  to  come  here." 

"  March,  said  Dick,  quickly,  "  I've  ch  \ngcd 
my  mind,  lad.  It  won't  do.  You'll  have  to 
spend  next  w'nter  at  home — any  how  ye  can't 
spend  it  wilh  me." 

Had  a  ihunderbolt  struck  the  earth  between 
March  and  Mary,  they  would  not  have  been  filled 
with  half  ito  much  consternation  as  they  were  on 
hearing  these  words.  It  was  plain  that  both  had 
thoroughly  made  up  their  minds  that  Ihey  were 
to  be  together  for  many  months  to  come.  Dick 
noted  ^he  effect  of  his  remark,  and  a  peculiar 
frown  crossed  his  countenance  for  a  moment,  but 
it  gave  place  to  a  smile,  as  he  said,  — 

"  I'm  sorry  to  disappoint  ye,  lad  ;  but  the  thing 
cannot  be." 

"  Cannot  be ! "  repeated  March,  in  a  tone  of 
exasperation,  for  he  felt  that  this  was  an  un- 
waiTantable  piece  of  caprice  on  the  part  of  his 
fri(uid ;  "surely  you  don't  claim  to  be  chief  of  the 
E(  cky  Mountains !  If  I  choose  to  come  an'  spend 
th:;  winter  in  this  region,  you  have  no  right  to 
pi\  v(>nt  me.  And  if  I  offer  to  bring  you  furs  and 
VcMiison,  besides  pretty  good  company,  will  ye  be 
such  a  surly  knave  as  to  refuse  me  a  corner  of 


I    i 


your  cave. 


» 


394 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF   THE   WEST. 


"  Nay,  lad.  Right-welcome  would  ye  be,  with 
or  without  furs  or  venison ;  but  I  mean  to  leave 
the  cave  —  to  quit  this  part  of  the  country  alto- 
gether. The  fact  is,  I'm  tired  of  it,  an'  want  a 
change." 

"  Very  good,  all  right,  an'  what's  io  hinder  my 
going  with  you  ?  I'm  fond  o'  change  myself. 
I'd  as  soon  go  one  way  as  another." 

Dick  shook  his  head.  "  It's  o'  no  use,  March, 
I've  my  own  reasons  for  desirin'  to  travel  alone. 
The  thing  cannot  be."  .  Vi 

This  was  said  in  such  a  decided  tone  that 
March  looked  at  Mary  in  dismay.  He  gathered 
no  consolation  from  her  countenance,  however. 

"  March,"  said  Dick,  firmly,  "  I'm  sorry  to 
grieve  ye,  lad,  but  it  can't  be  helped.  All  I 
can  say  is,  that  if  ye  choose  to  come  back  here 
next  summer  you'll  be  heartily  welcome,  and  I'U 
engage  that  ye'U  find  me  here ;  but  I'm  quite 
sartin'  ye  won't  want  to  come." 

"  Won't  want  to  come  !  I'll  bet  ye  a  hundred 
thousand  million  dollars  Til  want  to  come,  ay, 
and  will  come,"  cried  March. 

"  Done !  "  said  Dick,  seizi-g  the  youth's  hand, 
"  an'  Mary's  a  witness  to  the  wager." 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  conversation  did 
not  rest  here.  The  greater  part  of  that  night,  and 
during  great  part  of  the  week  that  March  re- 
mained there,  he  continued  to  press  the  Wild  Man 
of  the  West  to  liter  his  purpose,  but  without  avail. 


THE   DAY   OF  DEPARTURE   FIXED. 


395 


^■t*i 


Each  day  he  passed  with  his  comrades,  hunting 
and  trapping,  and  each  night  he  bade  them  adieu 
and  returned  to  sup  and  sleep  in  the  cave,  and  of 
course,  persecuted  Dick  all  that  time  ;  but  Dick 
was  immovable. 

Of  course,  the  trappers  renewed  their  attempts 
to  get  March  to  show  them  Dick's  abode,  but  he 
persistently  refused,  and  they  were  too  good- 
natured  to  annoy  him,  and  too  honest  to  follow 
his  trail,  which  they  might  easily  have  done,  had 
they  been  so  disposed. 

At  last  the  time  arrived  when  it  became  neces- 
sary that  the  trappers  should  return  to  Pine  Point 
settlement.  In  the  midst  of  all  their  alarms  and 
fights  they  had  found  time  to  do,  what  Big  Waller 
termed,  a  "  pretty  considerable  stroke  o'  business." 
That  is  to  say,  they  had  killed  a  large  number  of 
fur-bearing  animals  by  means  of  trap,  snare,  and 
gun,  so  that  they  were  in  a  position  to  return 
home  with  a  heavy  load  of  valuable  skins.  The 
day  of  their  departure  was  therefore  arranged, 
and  March,  mounting  his  steed,  galloped,  for  the 
last  time,  and  with  a  heavy  heart,  toward  the 
cave  of  his  friend  Dick. 

As  he  passed  rapidly  over  the  wild  country, 
and  entered  the  gloomy  recesses  that  surrounded 
the  Wild  Man's  home,  he  thought  over  the  argu- 
ments and  persuasive  speeches  with  which  he 
meant  ^.o  make  a  last,  and,  he  still  hoped,  suc- 
cessful appeal.     But  March  might  have  spared 


If; 


I 

it  I 


k 


UJMx 

\ 

ll 

iiil 


i' 


^i'i; 


390 


THE  WILD  MAN   OF   THE   WEST. 


himself  the  trouble  of  all  this  though,  for  when 
he  reached  the  cave  Dick  was  absent.  This 
grieved  him  deeply,  because  every  prepa.-ation 
had  been  made  by  his  companions  for  starting 
on  their  homeward  jonrney  that  evening,  so  that 
he  had  no  time  to  spare. 

Mary  was  at  home,  however,  so  March  felt  a 
little  consoled,  and,  seating  himself  in  his  wonted 
place  beside  the  fire,  he  said :  — 

«  When  will  Dick  be  home,  Mary  ?  " 

"  Me  no'  can  know  'zuctly.  To-morray  hims 
say,  perhaps." 

"  Then  it's  all  up,"  sighed  March,  leaning  reck- 
lessly back  against  the  wall,  "  all  up !  I'm  off 
to-night,  so  ni  not  be  able  to  spend  the  winter 
with  you!  after  all." 

Had  Mary  burst  into  tears  on  hearing  this, 
March  would  have  felt  satisfied.  H  id  she  groaned 
or  sobbed,  or  even  sighed,  he  would  have  experi- 
enced some  degree  of  relief  to  his  annoyed  and 
disappointed  spirit,  but  when  Mary,  instead  of 
any  such  demonstration,  hung  down  her  head  so 
that  the  heavy  masses  cf  her  soft  brown  hair  hid 
her  pretty  face  and  said,  in  a  tone  which  March 
fancied  was  not  \ery  genuine  —  "  What  a  pity," 
he  became  extremely  exasperated  and  deemed 
himself  ill-used. 

During  the  half  hour  that  succeeded  he  en- 
deavored to  converse  in  a  pleasant  tone  of  voice, 
but  without  success.     At  last  he  rose  to  go.  - 


witl 

doni 

not 
TI 

was' 

minci 

not 


■<-A 


MARCH  TAKES   LE^VE   OP  MARY. 


397 


"  Must  you  go  'way  dis  night  ?  "  said  Mary, 
with  a  look  of  concern." 

"  Ay,  Mary,  an'  it's  not  much  matter,  for  ye 
don't  seem  to  care." 

The  girl  looked  at  him  reproachfully,  "  You  is 
not  please'  with  me,  March  —  why  ?  " 

The  question  puzzled  the  youth.  He  certainly 
was  displeased,  but  he  could  not  make  up  his 
mind  to  say  that  he  was  so  because  Mary  had 
not  fallen  into  a  state  of  violent  grief  at  the 
prospect  of  a  separation.  But  the  anxious  gaze 
of  Mary's  truthful  blue  eyes  was  too  much  for 
him,  —  he  suddenly  grasped  both  her  hands,  and, 
idssing  her  forehead,  said :  — 

"  Mary,  dear,  I'm  not  displeased.  I'm  only 
sorry,  and  sad,  and  annoyed,  and  miserable  — 
very  miserable  —  I  can  scarcely  tell  why.  I  sup- 
pose I'm  not  well,  or  I'm  cross,  or  something  or 
other.  But  this  I  know,  Mary,  Dick  has  invited 
me  to  come  back  to  see  him  next  year,  and  I 
certainly  shall  come  if  life  and  limb  hold  out  till 
then." 

Mary's  eyes  fdled  with  tears,  and  as  she  smiled 
through  them,  March,  being  very  near  her  face, 
beheld  in  each  eye  an  excessively  miniature  por- 
trait of  himself  gazing  out  at  him  lovingly. 

"  Perhaps !  "  faltered  Mary,  "  you  no'  want  for 
come  when  it  be  nixt  year." 

Poor  March  was  overwhelmed  again,  abso- 

84 


W  I 

i  if;' 
k. 

(  , 

I 

:  'ft!. 


Hi 


II 


I 


m 


398 


THE   WILD   MAN   OP  THE  WEST. 


lutely  disgusted,  that  she  could  entertain  a  doubt 
upon  that  point! 

"  We  shall  see,"  he  cried,  with  a  sudden  ini- 
pulse,  pressing  his  lips  again  to  her  forehead, 
"  May  the  Great  Spirit  bless  and  keep  you. 
Good-by,  Mary,  —  till  next  spring." 

March  burst  away  from  her,  rushed  out  of  the 
cave  in  a  tumult  of  conflicting  feelings  and  great 
resolves,  and  despite  a  little  stiffness  that  stih 
remained  to  remind  him  of  his  late  accident, 
flung  himself  into  the  saddle  with  a  bound  that 
would  have  done  credit  to  the  Wild  Man  him- 
snlf,  and  galloped  down  the  rocky  gorge  at  a 
pace  that  threatened  a  sudden  and  total  smash 
to  horse  and  man.  Had  any  of  his  old  comrades 
or  friends  witnessed  that  burst,  they  would  cer- 
tainly have  said  that  March  Marston  was 
mad,  —  madder,  perhaps,  than  the  most  obstrep- 
erous March-hare  that  ever  marched  madly 
through  the  wild  regior4S  of  insanity. 


March  Mi 
of  his 
The  R 
Alarch' 
Lover. 
Wedclii 
West  tl 

Thm 
that  per 
again  ii 
stool  a1 
ing  dai 
looking 
mother, 
philosof 
other  ki 
in  those 
when  he 
he  looke 
feet  two 
Three 
passage 
became 
eye,  wer 
bad,  am( 


PINE  POINT  AGAIN. 


899 


CHAPTEK    XXIV. 


March  Marston  at  Home.  —  His  astonishing  Beliavior.  —  Narration 
of  his  Extraordinary  Adventures.  —  Widow  Mar.'ton's  IJower. — 
The  Rendezvous  of  the  Trappers.  —  A  strange  Interruption  to 
March's  Narrative.  —  A  Wild  Surprise  and  K<,'covcry  of  a  Lost 
Lover.  —  Great  Destruction  of  Household  Goods.  —  A  Double 
Wedding  and  Tremendous  Excitement.  —  The  Wild  Man  of  the 
West  the  Wisest  Man  in  Pine  Point  Settlement. 


I 


f. 


Three  months  passed  away,  and  at  the  end  of 
that  period  March  Marston  found  himself  back 
again  in  Pine  Point  settlement,  sitting  on  a  low 
stool  at  that  fireside  where  the  yelling  and  kick- 
ing days  of  his  infancy  had  been  spent,  and 
looking  up  in  the  face  of  that  buxom,  blue-eyed 
mother,  with  whom  he  had  been  wont  to  hold 
philosophical  converse  in  regard  to  fighting  and 
other  knotty  —  not  to  say  naughty  —  questions, 
in  those  bright  but  stormy  days  of  childhood 
when  he  stood  exactly  "  two-feet-ten,"  and  when 
he  looked  and  felt  as  if  he  stood  upwards  of  ten 
feet  two ! 

Three  months  passed  away,  and  during  the 
passage  of  that  period  March  Marston's  bosom 
became  a  theatre  in  which,  unseen  by  the  naked 
eye,  were  a  legion  of  spirits,  good,  middling,  and 
bad,  among  whom  were  hope,  fear,  despair,  joy, 


K    I 


;:i:l 


Uili 


,.;*;.■ 


400 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


fun,  delight,  interest,  surprise,  mischief,  exaspera* 
tion,  and  a  military  demon  named  General  Jollity, 
%viio  overbore  and  browbeat  all  the  rest  by  turns. 
These  scampered  through  his  brain  and  tore  up 
his  heart  and  tumbled  about  in  his  Ihroat  and 
lungs,  and  maintained  a  furious  harlequinade, 
and  in  short  behaved  in  a  way  that  was  quite 
disgraceful,  and  that  caused  the  poor  young  man 
alternately  to  amuse,  annoy,  astonish,  and  stun 
his  comrades,  who  beheld  the  exterior  results  of 
those  private  theatricals,  but  had  no  conception 
of  the  terrific  combats  that  took  place  so  fre- 
quently on  the  stage  witb'n. 

During  those  three  months,  March  saw  many 
things.  He  saw  his  old  friends  the  prairie-dogs, 
and  the  prong-horned  antelopes,  and  the  grii-ly 
bears,  and  the  wolves :  more  than  that,  he  chased, 
and  shot,  and  ate  many  of  them.  He  also  saw 
clouds  of  locusts  flying  high  in  the  air,  so  thick 
that  they  sometimes  darkened  the  very  sky,  and 
herds  of  buftkloes  so  large  that  they  often  dark- 
ened the  whole  plain. 

During  those  three  months  March  learned  a 
good  deal.  He  learned  that  there  was  much 
more  of  every  sort  of  thing  in  this  world  than 
he  had  had  any  idea  of —  that  there  was  much, 
ve^y  much,  to  be  thankful  for  —  that  there  were 
many,  very  many,  things  to  be  grieved  for,  and 
many  also  to  be  glad  about  —  that  the  fields  of 
knowledge  were  iilimitably  large,  and  that  his 


MARCH  RELATES   HIS  ADVENTURES, 


401 


own  individual  acquirements  were  preposterously, 
humblingly,  small ! 

He  thought  much,  too.  He  thought  of  the 
past,  present,  and  future  in  quite  a  surprising 
way.  Ho  thought  of  his  mother  and  her  loneli- 
ness, of  Dick  and  his  obstinacy,  of  Mary  and  her 
sweetness,  of  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West  and  his 
invisibility.  When  this  latter  thought  arose,  it 
had  the  effect  invariably  of  rousing  within  him 
demon  Despair ;  also  General  Jollity,  for  the  gen- 
eral had  a  particular  spite  against  that  demon, 
and,  whenever  he  showed  symptoms  of  vitality, 
attacked  him  with  a  species  of  frenzy  t  hat  was  quite 
dreadful  to  feel,  and  the  outw^ard  manifestations 
of  which  were  such  as  to  cause  the  trappers  to 
fear  seriously  that  the  poor  youlh  had  "gone  out 
of  his  mind,"  as  they  expressed  it ;  but  they  were 
wrong  —  quite  wrong  —  it  was  only  the  natural 
consequence  of  those  demons  and  sprites  having 
gone  into  his  mind,  where  they  were  behaving 
themselves  —  as  Bounce,  when  March  made  him 
his  confidant,  said  —  with  "horrible  oLsiropolos- 

ity." 

Well,  as  we  have  said,  March  was  seated  on  a 
low  stool,  looking  up  in  his  mother's  face.  He 
had  already  been  three  days  at  home,  and,  during 
every  spare  minute  he  had,  he  sat  himself  down 
on  the  same  stool,  and  went  on  with  his  inter- 
minable narrations  of  the  extraordinary  adven- 
tures through  which  he  had  passed  while  among 


i.:  V 


'!  M 


34 


403 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


the  Rocky  Mountains  and  out  upon  the  great 
prairies. 

Widow  Marston  —  for  she  knew  that  she  was 
a  widow  now,  though  the  knowledge  added  but 
little  to  the  feeling  of  widowhood  to  which  she 
had  been  doomed  for  so  many  years,  —  widow 
Marston,  we  say,  listened  to  this  interminable 
narraiioii  with  untiring  patience  and  unmitigated 
pleasriure.  There  was  as  yet  no  symptom  of  the 
narrative  drawing  to  a  close,  neither  was  there 
the  sliglitest  evidence  of  the  widow  Marston  be- 
coming wearied.  We  have  seen  a  cat  worried 
and  pulled  and  poked  by  its  kitten  almost  beyond 
endurance,  and  we  have  observed  that  the  cat 
endured  it  meekly  —  nay,  evidently  rejoiced  in 
the  armoyance  ;  it  was  pleasurable  pain.  As  it 
is  with  feline,  so  is  it  with  human  mothers.  Their 
love  overbears  and  outweighs  everything.  Ah! 
good  cause  have  the  rugged  males  of  this  world 
to  rejoice  that  such  is  1  )p  fact;  and  although 
they  know  the  fact  w^ell,  we  hold  that  it  is  cal- 
culated to  improve  the  health  and  refresh  the 
spirit  of  men  to  have  that  fact  brought  promi- 
nently and  pointedly  to  their  remembrance ! 

Had  March  Marston  talked  the  most  unut- 
terable balderdash,  widow  Marston  would  have 
listened  with  unwearied  delight  as  long,  we  be- 
lieve, as  her  eyes  and  ears  could  do  their  duty. 
But  March  did  not  talk  balderdash.  For  a  mad» 
man,  he  spoke  a  great  deal  of  common,  besides  a 


BIARCH  AND   niS  MOTHER. 


403 


cal* 

the 

roini- 

• 

unut- 
have 

7e  be- 
duly, 
mad* 

ides  a 


considerable  amount  of  uncommon  sense,  and  his 
mother  listened  with  intelligent  interest;  com- 
menting on  what  he  said  in  her  quiet  way,  as  she 
found  opportunity  —  we  say  this  advisedly,  for 
opportunities  were  not  so  frequent  as  one  might 
suppose.  March  had  always  been  possessed  of  a 
glib  tongue,  and  he  seemed,  as  Bounce  remarked, 
to  have  oiled  the  hinges  since  his  return  to  Pine 
Point  settlement. 

"  Mother,"  said  March,  after  a  short  pause  that 
had  succeeded  an  unusually  long  burst,  "  do  you 
know  it's  only  a  few  months  since  I  left  you  to 
go  to  this  trip  to  the  Mountains  ?  " 

"  I  know  it  well,  my  son,*'  replied  the  widow, 
smiling  at  the  question. 

"  And  do  you  know,"  he  continued,  "  that  it 
seems  to  me  more  like  five  years?  When  I 
think  of  all  that  I've  heard,  and  all  that  I've  done, 
and  all  that  I've  seen,  it  seems  to  me  as  if  it  had 
took  —  as  if  it  mnst  have  took  —  five  years  to 
have  heard  and  done  and  seen  it  all  in !  " 

"  And  yet,"  said  the  widow,  musingly,  "  you 
failed  to  see  the  Wild  Man  o'  the  West  after 
all." 

"  Mother,  I'll  be  angry  with  you  if  you  say 
that  again." 

"  Well,  I  won't,"  she  replied,  taking  his  hand 
in  hers  and  stroking  it.  "  Tell  me  again,  March 
about  Dick  of  the  Cave  and  his  little  girl.  I 
like  to  hear  about  them ;  they  were  so  kind  to 


Sf' 


''I 

f 


» 


V- 


,r 


404 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


you,  and  Ihat  Dick,  from  your  account,  seems  to 
be  such  a  fine  fellow ;  tell  me  all  about  them 
over  again." 

"  I  will,  mother,"  said  March,  clearing  his 
throat,  and  commencing  in  a  tone  that  showed 
clearly  his  intention  of  going  on  indefinitely. 

Widow  Marston's  cottage  had  a  pretty,  com- 
fortable-looking flower-garden  behind  it.  In  front 
the  windows  looked  out  upon  a  portion  of  the 
native  woods  which  had  been  left  standing  when 
the  spot  for  the  settlement  was  cleared.  In  the 
back  garden  there  was  a  bower  which  the  widow's 
brother,  the  blacksmith,  had  erected,  and  the 
creepers  on  which  had  been  planted  by  the 
widow's  own  hand  when  she  was  Mary  "West, 
the  belle  of  the  settlement.  In  this  bower, 
which  was  a  capacious  one,  sat  a  number  of 
sedate,  quiet,  jolly,  conversible  fellows,  nearly  jill 
of  whom  smoked,  and  one  of  whom  sketched. 
They  were  our  friends  Red  hand,  Bounce,  Big 
Waller,  Gibault,  Hawk  swing,  and  Bertram. 

It  is  observable  among  men  who  travel  long  in 
company  together  in  a  wild  country,  that,  when 
they  return  again  to  civilized,  or  to  semi-civilized 
life,  they  feel  a  strong  inclination  to  draw  closer 
together,  either  from  the  force  of  habit,  or  sym- 
pathy, or  both.  On  reaching  Pine  Point  the 
trappers,  after  visiting  their  friends  and  old  chums, 
drew  together  again  as  if  by  a  species  of  electrical 
a1  traction.     In  whatever  manner  they  chanced 


one, 


THE  TRAPPERS   IN   THE   BOWER. 


405 


to  spend  their  days,  they  —  for  the  first  week  at 
least  —  found  themselves  trending  gradually  each 
evening  a  little  before  sunset  to  a  common 
centre. 

Widow  Marston  was  always  at  home.  March 
Marston  was  always  with  his  mother.  Deep  in 
his  long-winded  yarns.  The  bower  was  always 
invitingly  open  in  the  back  garden  :  hence  the 
bower  was  the  regular  rendezvous  of  the  trappers. 
It  was  a  splendid  evening  that  on  which  we  now 
see  them  assembled  Ihere.  The  sun  was  just 
about  to  set  in  a  flood  of  golden  clouds.  Birds, 
wild-fowl,  and  frogs  held  an  uproarious  concert 
in  wood  and  swamp,  and  the  autumnal  foliage 
glowed  richly  in  the  slanting  beams  as  it  hung 
motionless  in  the  still  atmosphere. 

"  D'ye  know,"  said  Redliand,  removing  his 
pipe  for  a  few  minutes  and  blowing  aside  the 
heavy  wreaths  of  tobacco-smoke  that  seemed  un- 
willing to  ascend  and  dissipate  themselves, "  d'ye 
know,  now  that  this  trip's  over,  I'm  inclined  to 
think  it's  about  the  roughest  one  I've  had  for 
many  a  year.  An'  it's  a  cur'ous  fact,  that  the 
rougher  a  trip  is  the  more  I  like  it." 

Bertram,  who  was  (as  a  matter  of  course)  sketch- 
ing, turned  over  a  few  leaves  and  made  a  note  ol 
the  observation. 

"  I  guess  it  was  pretty  much  of  a  middhn'  jolly 
one,"  said  Big  Waller,  smoking  enthusiastically 
and  with  an  expression  of  intense  satisfaction  on 
his  weather-beaten  countenance. 


i 

!  i 

J',  I 


>*'I; 


a 


-'*> ' 


dk  I 

^^!i 


n 
t  i 


406 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


"  An'  profitable,"  observed  Bounce,  gravely. 

"  Ah !  oui,  ver'  prof 'table,"  echoed  Gibauli, 
**  Dat  is  de  main  ting.  We  have  git  plenty  skins, 
an'  have  bring  horn'  our  own  skins,  w'ich  I  was 
not  moche  sure  of  one  or  two  times." 

"  True,"  said  Bounce  ;  "  that's  wot  we've  got 
for  to  be  thankful  for.  Skins  is  skins ;  but  the 
skin  of  a  human  ain't  to  be  put  in  the  balance 
wi'  the  skin  o'  a  beaver,  d'ye  see  ?  " 

Bounce  glanced  at  Hawkswing  as  he  spoke, 
but  the  Indian  only  looked  stolid,  and  smoked 
solemnly. 

"  Yes,"  he  continued,  "  a  whole  skin's  better 
nor  a  broken  one,  an'  it's  well  to  bring  back  a 
whole  one,  though  I'm  not  agoin'  for  to  deny 
that  there's  some  advantage  in  bringing  back 
other  sorts  o'  skins  too,  d'ye  see,  w'ich  goes  for 
to  prove  the  true  feelosophy  of  the  fact,  d'ye 


see 


» 


Bounce  paused,  in  the  midst  of  his  mental  en- 
ergy, to  take  a  parenthetic  whifF.  His  thoughts, 
however,  seemed  too  deep  for  utterance,  for  he 
subsided  quietly  into  a  state  of  silent  fumigation. 

"  What  a  splendidly  picturesque  scene  !  "  ex- 
claimed Bertram,  pushing  back  his  brigandish 
hat,  in  order  the  better  to  get  a  view,  at  arms 
length,  of  his  sketch,  and  compare  it  with  the 
original. 

"  Wot's  tlie  meanin'  o'  picter-esk  ?  "  inquired 
Bounce. 


A   SURPRISE. 


407 


Theodore   Bertram   looked   and   felt  puzzled. 
He  was  not  the  first  man  who  thought  that  he 
knew  thf   signification  of  terms  well,  and  found 
himself  much  perplexed  on  being  suddenly  called 
upon  to  give  a  correct  definition  of  a  well-known 
word.     While  he  is  laboring  to   enlighten   his 
friend,  we  shall  leave  the  bower  and  return  to  the 
hall,  or  kitchen,  or  reception-room,  —  for  it  might 
be  appropriately  designated  by  any  of  these  terms, 
—  where  March  is,  as  usual,  engaged  in  expound- 
ing backwoods'  life  to   his   mother.     We   have 
only  to  pass  through  ihe  open  door  and  are  with 
them  at  once.    Cottages  in  Pine  Point  settlement 
were   of    simple   construction;    the    front  door 
opened  out  of  one  side  of  the  hall,  the  back  door 
out  of  the  other.     As  the  weather  was  mild,  bol  h 
were  wide  open. 

March  had  just  reached  an  intensely  interesting 
point  in  his  narrative,  and  was  describing,  with 
flashing  eyes  and  heightened  color,  his  first  in- 
terview with  the  "  Vision  in  Leather,"  when  his 
attention  was  attracted  by  the  sound  of  horses' 
hoofs  coming,  at  a  rapid  pace  along  the  road  that 
led  to  ihe  cottage.  The  wood  above  referred  to 
hid  any  object  approaching  by  the  road  until 
within  fifty  yards  or  so  of  the  front  door. 

"They  seem  in  a  hurry,  whoever  they  be," 
said  March,  as  he  and  his  mother  rose  and  hast- 
ened to  the  door,  "an'  there's  more  than  one 
rider,  if  I've  not  forgot  how  to  judge  by  sounds. 
I  should  say  that  there's  —  Hallo  ! " 


408 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


The  exclamation  was  not  natural  by  any 
means,  for  at  that  moment  a  very  remarkable 
horseman  dashed  round  the  point  of  the  wood  and 
galloped  toward  the  cottage.  Both  man  and 
horse  were  gigantic.  The  former  wore  no  cap, 
and  his  voluminous  brown  locks  floated  wildly 
behind  him.  On  they  came  with  a  heavy,  thun- 
derous tread,  stones,  sticks,  and  dust  flying  from 
the  charge's  heels.  There  was  a  rude  paling  in 
front  of  Ihe  cottage.  The  noble  horse  put  its 
ears  forward  as  it  came  up,  took  two  or  three 
short  strides,  and  went  over  with  the  light  bound 
of  a  deer,  showing  that  the  strength  of  bone, 
muscle,  and  sinew  was  in  proportion  to  the 
colossal  size  of  the  animal.  The  gravel  inside 
the  paling  flew  like  splashing  water  as  they 
alighted  wath  a  crash,  and  widow  Marston, 
utteiing  a  faint  cry,  shrank  within  the  doorway 
as  the  wild  horseman  seemed  about  to  launch 
himself,  with  Quixotic  recklessness,  against  the 
cottage. 

*'  Dick!^^  shouted  March,  who  stared  like  one 
thunderstruck  as  the  rider  leaped  from  the  saddle 
to  the  ground,  sprang  with  a  single  bound  to  the 
widow's  side,  seized  her  right  hand  in  both  of 
his,  and,  stooping  down,  gazed  intently  into  her 
alarmed  countenance.  Suddenly  the  blood  rushed 
violently  to  her  temples,  as  the  man  pronounced 
her  name  in  a  low,  deep  tone,  and  with  r»  look  of 
wild  surprise  mingled  with  terror,  she  excianned, — 


THE  RETURNED   LOVER. 


409 


«*Loms!" 

The  color  fled  from  her  cheeks,  and  uttenng  a 
piercing  cry,  she  fell  forward  on  the  breast  of  hei 
long-lost  lover. 

March  Marston  stood  for  some  time  helpless  ; 
but  he  found  his  voice  just  as  Redhand  and  the 
other  trappers,  rushing  through  the  house,  burst 
upon  the  scene  —  " Dick! "  shouted  March  again, 
in  the  highest  pitch  of  amazement. 

"  The  Wild  Man  o'  the  West  ! "  roared 
Bounce,  with  the  expression  of  one  who  believes 
he  gazes  on  a  ghost. 

"  Fetch  a  drop  o'  water,  one  o'  you  fellers," 
said  the  Wild  Man,  looking  anxiously  at  the  pale 
face  that  rested  on  his  arm. 

Every  one  darted  off  to  obey,  excepting  Ber 
tram,  who,  with  eyes  almost  starting  out  of  their 
sockets,  was  already  seated  on  the  pahng,  sketch- 
ing the  scene ;  for  he  entertained  an  irresistible 
belief  that  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West  would,  as 
he  had  already  done  more  than  once,  vanish  from 
the  spot  before  he  could  get  him  transferred  to 
the  pages  of  his  immortal  book. 

Trappers  are  undoubtedly  men  who  can  act 
with  vigorous  promptitude  in  their  own  peculiar 
sphere;  but  when  out  of  that  sphere,  they  are 
rather  clumsy  and  awkward.  Had  they  been  in 
the  forest,  each  man  would  have  fetched  a  draught 
of  clear  water  from  the  nearest  spring  with  the 
utmost  celerity;  but,  being  in  a  settlement,  they 

35 


I 


% 


■  i 


410 


THE  WILD   MAN   OF  THE    WEST. 


knew  not  where  to  turn.  Big  Waller  dashed 
toward  a  very  small  pond  which  lay  near  the 
cottage,  and  dipping  his  cap  into  it,  brought  up  a 
compound  of  diluted  mud  and  chickweed.  Gi- 
bault  made  an  attempt  on  a  tiny  rivulet  with  the 
like  success,  which  was  not  surprising,  seeing  that 
its  fountain-head  lay  at  the  bottom  of  the  said 
pond.  Bounce  and  Hawkswing  bolted  into  the 
cottage  in  search  of  the  needful  fluid,  but,  being 
unused  to  furniture,  they  upset  three  chairs  and  a 
small  table  in  their  haste,  and  scattered  on  the 
floor  a  mass  of  crockery,  with  a  crash  that  made 
them  feel  as  if  they  had  been  the  means  of  caus- 
ing some  dire  domestic  calamity,  and  which 
almost  terrified  the  household  kitten  into  fits. 

Then  Bounce  made  a  hopeful  grasp  at  a  teapot, 
which,  having  happily  been  placed  on  a  side  table, 
had  survived  the  wreck  of  its  contemporary  cups 
and  saucers,  and  the  Indian  made  an  insane  ef- 
fort to  wrench  the  top  off"  a  butter-churn,  in  the 
belief  that  it  contained  a  well-spring  of  water. 

Of  all  the  party  old  Redhand  alone  stood  still, 
with  his  bald  head  glistening  in  the  last  rays  of 
the  sinking  sun,  and  his  kindly  face  wrinkled  all 
over  with  a  sympathetic  smile.  He  knew  well 
that  the  young  widow  would  soon  recover,  with 
or  without  the  aid  of  water ;  so  he  smoked  his 
pipp  complacently,  leaned  against  the  door-post, 
and  looked  on. 

He  '"««  riqrht.   In  a  few  minutes  Mrs.  Marston 


WIDOW  MARSTON  AND   THE   WILD   MAN.      411 


arston 


recovered,  and  was  tenderly  led  into  the  cottage 
by  her  old  lover,  Louis  Thadwick,  or,  as  we  still 
prefer  to  call  him,  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West. 
There,  seated  by  her  side,  in  the  midst  of  the 
wreck  and  debris  of  her  household  goods,  the 
Wild  Man,  quite  regardless  of  appearances,  be- 
gan boldly  to  tell  the  same  old  tale,  and  commit 
the  same  offence,  that  he  told  and  committed 
upwards  of  sixteen  years  before,  when  he  was 
Louis  the  Trapper,  and  she  was  Mary  West. 

Seeing  what  was  going  forward,  the  judicious 
trappers  and  the  enthusiastic  artist  considerately 
retired  to  the  bower  behind  the  house.  What 
transpired  at  that  strange  interview  no  one  can 
tell,  for  no  one  was  present  except  the  kitten. 
That  creature,  having  recovered  frr  i  its  conster- 
nation, discovered,  to  its  inexpressible  joy,  that, 
an  enormous  jug  having  been  smashed  by 
Bounce  along  with  the  other  things,  the  floor 
was  covered  in  part  with  a  lakelet  of  rich  cream. 
With  almost  closed  eyes,  intermittent  purring, 
quick-lappin*g  tongue,  and  occasional  indications 
of  a  tendency  to  choke,  that  fortunate  animal 
revelled  in  this  unexpected  flood  of  delectation, 
and  listened  to  the  conversation ;  but,  not  being 
gifted  with  the  power  of  speech,  it  never  divulged 
what  was  said  —  at  least  to  human  ears,  though 
we  are  by  no  means  sure  that  it  did  not  create  a 
considerable  amount  of  talk  among  the  cat-pop- 
ulation of  the  settlement. 


n 


r 


412 


THE   WILD   MAN   OF  THE   WEST. 


Be  this  as  it  may,  when  the  Wild  Man  at 
length  opened  the  door,  and  cried,  "  Come  in, 
lads  —  it's  all  right,"  they  found  the  widow 
Marston  with  confusion  and  happiness  beaming 
on  her  countenance,  and  the  Wild  Man  himself 
in  a  condition  that  fully  justified  Bounce's  sug- 
gestion that  they  had  better  send  for  a  strait- 
waistcoat  or  a  pair  of  handcuffs.  As  for  March, 
he  had  all  along  been,  and  still  was,  speechless. 
That  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West  was  Dick,  and 
Dick'  the  Wild  Man  of  the  West,  and  that  both 
should  come  home  at  the  same  time  in  one  body, 
and  propose  to  marry  his  mother,  was  past  belief, 
—  so  of  course  he  didn't  believe  it. 

"  Hallo !  wait  a  bit;  I  do  b'lieve  I  was  forget- 
tin',"  cried  the  Wild  Man,  springing  up  in  his 
own  violent  impulsive  way,  upsetting  his  chair 
(as  a  matter  of  course,  being  unused  to  such  del- 
icacies), dashing  through  the  lake  of  cream  to  the 
all  but  annihilation  of  the  kitten,  opening  the 
door,  and  giving  vent  to  a  shrill  whistle. 

All  rushed  out  to  witness  the  result.  Thev 
were  prepared  for  any  thing  now  —  from  a  mad 
bison  to  a  red  warrior's  ghost,  and  would  have 
been  rather  disappointed  had  any  thing  feebler 
appeared. 

Immediately  there  w  as  a  clatter  of  hoofs ;  a 
beautiful  white  pony  galloped  round  the  corner 
of  the  wood,  and  made  straight  for  the  cottage. 
Seated  thereon  was  the  vision  in  leather  —  not 


MARCH   AND   THE   VISION. 


413 


xn  at 
e   in, 
ridow 
iming 
mself 
3  sug- 
sirait- 
^arch, 
chiess. 
k,  and 
t  both 
body, 
belief, 

forget- 
in  liis 
chair 
ch  del- 
to  the 
g  the 

Thev 

la  mad 

have 

feebler 

)fs;  a 
I  corner 

>ttage. 
I — not 


seated  as  a  woman  sits,  but  after  the  fashion  of 
her  own  adopted  father,  and  having  on  hei 
leathern  dress  with  a  pair  of  long  leggings  highly 
ornamented  with  porcupine-quills  and  bead- 
work.  The  vision  leaped  the  fence  like  her 
father,  bounded  from  her  pony  as  he  had  done, 
and  rushed  into  the  Wild  Man's  arms,  exclaim- 
ing, "  Be  she  here,  an'  well,  dear  fader  ?  " 

"  Ay,  all  right,"  he  replied ;  but  he  had  no  time 
to  say  more,  for  at  that  moment  March  Marston 
darted  at  the  vision,  seized  one  of  her  hands,  put 
his  arm  round  her  waist,  and  swung  her,  rather 
than  led  her,  into  his  mother's  presence. 

•"  Here's  Mary,  mother !  "  cried  March,  with  a 
very  howl  of  delight. 

The  widow  had  already  guessed  it.  She  ruse" 
and  extended  her  arms.  Mary  gazed  for  one 
moment  eagerly  at  her  and  then  rushed  into 
them.  Turning  sharp  round,  March  threw  his 
arms  round  Bounce's  neck  and  embraced  him  for 
want  of  a  better  subject ;  then  hurling  him  aside 
he  gave  another  shout,  and  began  to  dance  a 
violent  horn-pi})e  on  the  floor,  to  the  still  further 
horrification  of  the  kitten  (which  was  now  a 
feline  maniac),  and  the  general  scatteration  of 
the  mingled  mass  of  crockery  and  cream.  See- 
ing this.  Bounce  uttered  an  hysterical  cheer. 
Hawivswing,  being  excited  beyond  even  savage 
endurance,  drew  his  scalping-knife,  yelled  the 
war-cry,  and   burst  into  the  war-dance  of  the 


414 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


Seneca  Indians.  In  short,  the  widow's  cottage 
became  the  theatre  of  a  scene  that  would  have 
done  credit  to  the  violent  wards  of  a  lunatic 
asylum  —  a  scene,  which  is  utterly  beyond  the 
dc'Lineative  powers  of  pen  or  pencil  —  a  scene 
which  defies  description,  repudiates  adequate 
conception,  and  will  dwell  forever  on  the  memo- 
ries- of  those  who  took  part  in  it  like  the  wild 
phantasmagoria  of  a  tremendous  dream. 
»  •  •  •' 

Of  course,  a  wild  man  could  not  be  induced, 
like  an  ordinary  mortal,  to  wait  a  reasonable 
time  in  order  to  give  his  bride  an  opportunity  of 
preparing  her  trousseau.  He  was  a  self-willed 
man,  and  a  man  of  a  strong  mind.  He  insisted 
upon  being  married  "  out  of  hand,  and  havo 
done  with  it."  So  he  was  married  —  whether 
"  out  of  hand "  or  not  we  cannot  tell  —  by  the 
excellent  clergyman  of  Pine  Point  settlement. 
On  the  same  day,  and  the  same  hour,  March 
Marston  was  married  —  "out  of  hand,"  also, 
no  doubt  —  to  the  vision  in  leather! 

There  was  something  rather  precipitate  in 
these  proceedings,  unquestionably ;  but  those 
who  feel  disposed  to  object  to  them  must  bear  in 
mind,  first,  that  backwoodsmen  are  addicted  to 
precipitancy  at  times ;  and,  secondly,  that  facts 
cannot  be  altered  in  order  to  please  the  fastidious 
taste  of  the  so-caUed  civilized  world. 

Public  opinion  in  the  settlement  was  strongi) 


THE   WEDDING    FESTIVITIES. 


415 


bi  favor  of  the  doings  of  the  Wild  Man  of  the 
West.  Delay  was  deemed  by  all  to  be  unneces- 
sary, and  all  the  more  so  that  the  double 
weddmg-day  was  to  be  celebrated  as  a  species 
of  public  event. 

The  romance  connected  with  Ihe  previous  life 
of  Dick,  and  especially  his  singular  and  unex- 
pected return  to  his  first  love,  created  quite  a 
sensation,  even  in  a  region  in  which  wild  deeds 
and  wonderful  events  were  so  common  that  it 
required  a  man  to  be  a  real  hero  to  enable  him 
to  rise  conspicuous  above  his  fellows.  Many 
trappers  came  in  from  a  considerable  distance  to 
take  part  in  the  rejoicings  of  that  day,  and  from 
the  dance  which  followed  the  ceremony  there 
was  not  absent  a  living  creature  belonging  to 
w  e  settlement. 

Every  dog  was  there,  of  course,  adding  its 
vocal  melody  to  the  dulcet  tones  of  the  black- 
smith's violin.  Even  the  cats  of  the  settlement 
were  present,  including  that  celebrated  kitten 
which  had  been  reduced  to  a  state  of  drivelling 
imbecility  by  the  furious  advent  of  the  Wild 
Man.  Owls  and  other  sagacious  birds  also 
came  from  afar  to  see  the  fun,  attracted  by  the 
light  of  the  fire ;  for  the  ball-room  was  the  green 
sward  of  the  forest,  which  was  illuminated  for 
the  occasion*  by  a  bonfire  that  would  have  roast- 
ed a  megatherium  whole,  and  also  would  have 


»! 


416 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF   THE   WEST. 


furnished  accommodation  for  a  pot  large  enough 
to  boil  an  elephant.  Don't  think,  reader,  in  the 
vanity  of  your  heart,  ihat  you  have  conceived 
that  fire!  You  have  not,  as  a  Yankee  would 
say,  the  most  distant  conception  of  the  small 
end  of  a  notion  of  what  it  was!  A  hundred 
brawny  arms,  accustomed  to  wield  the  broad 
axe,  had  lent  their  aid  to  rear  the  mighty  pile 
and  feed  the  ravening  flame. 

It  was  kindled  on  a  wide  level  plot  in  the  out- 
skirts of  the  settlement,  around  which  the  trees 
spread  their  sheltering  arms.  On  a  plank  raised 
on  two  casks  sat  the  blacksmith  with  his  fiddle. 
The  carpenter  sat  beside  him  with  a  kettle-drum 
—  more  literally  a  kettle-drum  even  than  the  real 
thing,  for  that  drum  loas  a  kettle  !  On  a  little 
mound  that  rose  in  the  centre  of  the  plot  sat,  in 
state,  Dick  and  Mary,  March  and  the  vision  in 
leather,  their  respective  thrones  being  empty 
flour-casks.  Around  them  danced  the  youth  and 
beauty  of  the  settlement.  These  were  inclosed 
by  a  dense  circle,  composed  of  patriarchal,  mid- 
dle-aged, and  extremely  juvenile  admirers.  The 
background  of  the  picture  was  filled  up  with  the 
monstrous  fire  which  saturated  that  spot  in  the 
forest  with  light  —  bright  as  the  broadest  day. 
The  extreme  foreground  was  composed  of  the 
trunk  of  a  fallen  tree,  on  which  sat  our  friend 
*he  artist,  delineating  the  whole  with  the  eager- 


<ks 


TUB   WEDDING   FESTIVITIES. 


417 


<^ 


ness  of  an  entliusiust  who  had  at  last  fallen  upon 
a  scene  truly  worthy  of  his  genius. 

How  Bounce  did  dance,  to  be  sure !  How  the 
young  traj)pers  and  the  blooming  backwoods*, 
maidens  ciid  whirl  and  bound,  on  heel  and  toe, 
and,  to  fl,  large  extent,  on  the  whole  sole  of  the 
foot!  Yes,  their  souls  were  in  the  work,  and 
their  spirits  too ;  and  that  although  there  was 
not  a  drop  of  spirits  in  the  settlement.  Happily, 
owing  to  the  unaccountable  delay  of  a  provision- 
boat,  there  was  not  a  glass  of  "fire-water"  in  the 
place  at  that  time.  The  whole  affair  was  got 
up,  carried  on,  and  <  oncluded  on  tea.  It  was  a 
great  teetotal  gathering,  which  would  have  drawn 
tears  of  joy  from  the  heart  of  Father  Matthew 
and  all  his  successors,  whether  Romanist  or 
Protestant,  had  they  witnessed  it. 

Yet  the  excitement  was  tremendous.  The 
Wild  Man  of  the  West,  strange  to  say,  and, 
owing  to  some  peculiar  contradictoriness  of 
character  which  was  unaccountable,  was  almost? 
the  only  sane  man  of  the  whole  party.  He  flung 
himself  on  the  ground  beside  his  wife,  and  lock- 
ing his  arm  round  the  tough  root  of  a  pine-tree 
refused  to  budge  from  the  spot.  As  the  united 
efforts  of  all  the  men  who  could  lay  hold  of  him 
at  one  time  failed  to  root  him  up,  he  was  suffered 
to  lie  there  and  amuse  himself  by  watching  the 
dancers,  looking  up  occasionally  at  Mary's  blue 


418 


THE  WILD  MAN  OF  THE  WEST. 


eyes,  and  playing  with  such  of  the  juveniles  afl 
he  could  attract  within  the  reach  of  his,  long 
arm. 

As  for  March  Marston,  he  was  mad  now  if 
ever  he  had  been  so  in  his  life !  He  danced  with 
all  the  girls,  and  wrestled  with  all  the  men,  and 
played  hide-and-seek  with  all  the  boys,  and  fra- 
ternized with  all  the  old  people,  and  chased  all 
the  dogs,  and  astonished,  not  to  say  horrified,  all 
the  cats.  Yet,  although  he  did  all  this,  he  did 
not  neglect  the  vision  in  leather,  by  no  mau^ier 
of  means. 

Long  before  the  dawn  of  early  morning  that 
jovial  party  drank  a  parting  cup  of  cold  tea, 
and,  dispersing  to  their  several  homes,  left  the 
field  in  possession  of  the  village  curs. 

Now,  dear  reader  —  with  a  feeling  of  sadness 
we  write  —  all  things  must  have  an  end !  We 
make  this  unquestionable  assertion  in  order  to 
break  to  you,  as  gently  as  may  be,  the  news  that 
our  tale  has  reached  its  close.  Had  we  taken  in 
hand  to  write  the  life  and  adventures  of  our  hero 
and  his  friends,  from  first  to  last,  we  should 
have  had  to  prepare  pens,  ink,  and  paper,  for  a 
work  equal  in  size  to  the  "  EncyclopsBdia  Bri- 
tannica."  We  have  detailed  one  or  tv/o  episodes 
in  their  wild  career.  What  they  did,  and  said, 
and  saw  in  after  years,  must  be  left  to  future 
historians,  or  to  the  imagination  of  romantic 


CONCLUSION. 


419 


readers.  This  only  will  we '  eay  in  conclusion, 
that  of  all  the  men  who  dwelt  in  Pine  Point 
settlement,  for  many  years  after  the  events  nar- 
rated in  these  pages,  the  kindest,  the  wisest 
the  gentlest,  the  heartiest,  the  wildest,  and  the 
most  courageous,  was — the  Wild  Man  of  the 
West. 


THE    END 


